


Blood, Time, Death, and Love

by cassisluna



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2018-05-07 20:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 51,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5469353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassisluna/pseuds/cassisluna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where his own relatives shun him and the Wizarding World is afraid of him, 10-year-old Harry first meets Draco as his friend. But tragedy strikes and Harry is forced to turn back time to save him. It's 4th year, the year of the Triwizard Tournament, and Draco doesn't know a thing. Harry remembers everything. HPDM, Severitus, Slytherin!Harry, Vampire!Harry</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The prologue for this story is inspired by and based on the Hetalia doujinshi “The Hero and the Wizard” by 衣. When I first read it, I knew I had to write a Harry/Draco one! It just took me… years… to actually get to it. Uhm. Anyway, this will probably be a long ride. :D;

_“We live in deeds, not years;_

_In thoughts, not breaths;_

_In feelings, not in figures on a dial.”_

_\- Philip James Bailey_  
  


**p r o l o g u e**

 

Petunia Dursley knew there was something very peculiar about her nephew. It wasn’t that he had m—… that he was a freak like her sister. It was something more. Something more horrible that if Vernon ever found out, he’d dispose of the child for sure, and – freak or not, unwanted child or not – the boy was Lily’s son… Her own blood and flesh. _Petunia’s_ own blood and flesh.

 

But as the child grew older, it was getting harder and harder to cover up his many peculiarities: the prominent canines, the abnormal clearness of his vision during blackouts, the quick disappearance of wounds and bruises overnight…

 

The constant sun rashes and the pale pallor had been easy to make excuses for at first. During the first few years, they had religiously kept the child indoors, hiding him behind closed doors and drawn curtains. It wasn’t a surprise that the first time Petunia dragged the child outside to teach him how to weed her garden, red spots scattered all over his small arms and cheeks.

 

And besides, children were susceptible to sun rashes, weren’t they? Duddleykins had them when he played outside for too long as well.

 

But years dragged on and the rashes didn’t stop coming.

 

She limited the child’s work to chores inside the house while she personally laboured over the garden, but Vernon wasn’t having any of that.

 

“We’re giving you food and shelter, boy!” Her husband had snarled at the cowering five-year-old boy. “Least you could do is weed the garden!”

 

So Petunia let the boy weed the garden under the heat of the sun. She turned a blind eye when the rashes turned into open wounds, angry and raw, ignored the child’s sniffles as he obediently shoved his wounded fingers in the dirt again and again for hours, and didn’t say a word when she turned the lock of the cupboard open the next morning and saw no signs that the wounds had been there at all.

 

Vernon had asked. So had Dudley. Especially Dudley. Children were too inquisitive and too verbal about it for their own good.

 

“Just a freak like my sister,” Petunia would mutter.

 

But Lily didn’t burn in the open sun, didn’t have sharp teeth or night vision or healing powers, and even when she had been down with the flu, had never been that pale.

 

* * *

 

 

Severus Snape knew there was something not quite right with 4 Privet Drive. It was in the closed curtains, the unwelcoming atmosphere, and the dullness of the place despite having – as Dumbledore had said – two children to brighten up the place.

 

The closed curtains were not a surprise. If these Muggles were half as intelligent as Snape thought them to be, then they would have already figured out that sunlight was bad for Harry Potter.

 

But it was already night time. The curtains shouldn’t have been necessary.

 

The edge of Snape’s lips curled up into a sneer.

 

He had no idea what Dumbledore was thinking sending him to get Potter five years before the boy was sent for Hogwarts. There were just so many things wrong with that thought.

 

 _Him_. Severus Snape. Ex-Death Eater. Sent to retrieve the son of Lily Evans, the only person he ever truly loved, and James Potter, the person foremost in the list of those he truly hated. _Five years before the boy was sent for Hogwarts_.

 

“He can survive five more years of pampering from his ever-doting relatives, Albus,” he had said bitingly. “His… _condition_ –“ It was with years of practicing holding his tongue in front of Albus Dumbledore that he successfully managed not to spit the word _disease_. “—should be easily compensated for. Muggles compensate for trifle disabilities all the time, do they not?”

 

“Then all the better that we wizards do the compensating for them,” Dumbledore had said calmly. “We do, after all, have the means.”

 

Snape scowled. “Why now? You’ve left the boy in their care for six years.”

 

“Six years too long,” Dumbledore had said sadly. Snape didn’t bother asking anymore. The last time he tried, he only got a multitude of riddles for his effort.

 

“You cannot possibly be thinking of submerging a _six-year-old_ inside a Wizarding World where _everyone is afraid of him_ ,” Snape hissed vehemently.

 

Dumbledore’s eyes turned downcast towards the wood of his desk. He sighed then, and Snape realized with a bit of a start that Dumbledore actually looked… _tired_. “Minerva visited the child a week ago, and I… I trust Lily’s son with you, Severus.”

 

He said it in that soft, gentle, and absolutely infuriating voice of his.

 

“Please.”

 

Because he knew that Snape wouldn’t be able to resist anything with Lily in it.

 

And Snape hated him for that.

 

Hated how easily he agreed to taking care of _James Potter’s_ spawn.

 

He had apparated to Little Whinging shortly after that, livid and fingers cold with fury. He had planned to stalk right up to the front door, knock, and launch into a ten-minute speech as to why they should hand over the accursed boy to him, but when Petunia Dursley opened the door, all he could do was stare.

 

He had been prepared to see her again. But even though she was a lot thinner and a lot older-looking than Snape remembered or even imagined her to be, it was like being transported back in time, when they were younger and life was brighter, when he and Lily were still the best of friends, when Petunia sent him cross looks every time he picked Lily up for their mandatory Saturday afternoon walk by the lake…

 

Only this time they were older and the world was a dark place and Lily was dead and he was here to pick up her son.

 

“ _You!”_ gasped Petunia Dursley. Her eyes were wide with panic and Snape saw her fingers on the doorframe start to tremble. She narrowed the opening of the door, looking behind her once with an expression of fear, before turning back to Snape with a pleading look. “You’re here to take him, aren’t you?”

 

Snape could only blink. A sense of unease started to gnaw at him.

 

“ _Aren’t you?_ ” Petunia hissed fiercely. Another glance behind her shoulder.

 

Snape gathered enough of his wits to nod. “I am. Permanently. I have the papers –“

 

Petunia shook her head quickly. “There are no papers. Take him. _Please_.” Her wide eyes stared into his wildly. “Give me a moment,” she muttered before closing the door in his face.

 

Snape stared dumbly at the white paint of the door, mind working furiously at the implications of what Petunia had said. No papers.

 

He could hear shuffling from inside the house, hushed conversation, a door being slammed, and then –

 

A muffled shout of “FREAK!”

 

“Vernon, please –“

 

“Get out! Right now! OUT!”

 

“ _Vernon_ –“

 

“And Petunia, you tell that bastard out there to get his dirty shoes off my porch –“

 

More shuffling and then stomping.

 

Finally, the door opened – just narrow enough for Petunia to push the boy through.

 

Snape, despite his attempts to condition himself from plunging back into maudlin memories of the past, found himself taking a very sharp intake of breath at the sight of those green eyes staring up at him.

 

“He’s –“ Petunia started but her voice cracked. Snape’s eyes snapped up to meet hers or, at least, the one that was peering through the now even narrower opening of the door. It hadn’t been bloodshot when he last saw it. Petunia swallowed audibly and tried again. “He’s all yours,” she whispered.

 

Snape looked back down at the child. He took in the oversized clothes, torn in some places, and the oversized glasses. But most of all, he took in the thinness of the child, the dull bruises on the child’s forehead, the rashes on his hollowed cheeks, and the dried, broken lower lip.

 

Before fury could fully consume him, he forced himself through gritted teeth to say, “ _His things?”_

 

Petunia shook her head furiously. “None. Now leave.” One more glance behind. “ _Please_.”

 

And then she closed the door.

 

 _None_ , she had said. _No papers,_ she had said.

 

Snape could feel a snarl threaten to take up his face.

 

Now he knew what Dumbledore had meant when he said “six years too long.”

 

A whimper below him had him looking down abruptly, and he stared – with wide eyes and a sick feeling unfurling in his stomach – at the child who was standing, tensed, with his arms above his head for protection.

 

He had half a mind to Reducto the whole house. Set Fiendfyre on all of them. Crucio all the inhabitants until they cried and begged for mercy, the same way that this child – _Lily’s son_ – had cried and begged for mercy.

 

Snape forced himself away from those thoughts abruptly. He had turned his back on that life.

 

This was his life now.

 

He raised a hand cautiously and gently pried the child’s arms apart. With a certain sort of marvel and emotions that he thought had long since died within him, he placed his hand on top of the boy’s head.

 

This was going to be his life.

 

He felt as if weight was added on to his shoulders, but he had lived through his whole life with heavy shoulders. What was a little more?

 

Tentatively, the child’s arms fell down and he peeked through messy bangs at the man with the moon behind him.

 

“Let us go,” Snape murmured into the night.

 

* * *

 

Six-year-old Harry Potter figured there was something weird about the man in black. He didn’t make Harry weed the garden or sleep in the cupboard or wash the dishes or clean the floor. He gave Harry _food_.

 

The Dursleys gave him food too but always leftovers and canned soup that never tasted nice.

 

The man in black had fetched Harry from his room – His room. His own room! He didn’t have to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs anymore! – the next morning and walked with him towards a big, dining hall that was so tall and so wide that Harry thought it was funny that the long table in the middle of the room only occupied such a small space.

 

The table, Harry saw as they neared, was filled with plates of food that looked and smelled delicious. His mouth watered just looking at them. But he had learned well in the Dursleys never to touch food that wasn’t his so he hung awkwardly beside the man as the man took the seat at the head of the table.

 

Dudley made him sit with them during mealtimes sometimes, even though Uncle Vernon’s face would turn into a funny purple. At first, he made the mistake of thinking that they were finally allowing him to eat with them, but was quick to learn that it was only one of Dudley’s ways of hurting him.

 

Did this man want to hurt him as well?

 

When the man ordered him to sit, he did and kept his eyes resolutely on his hands, as if they might move out of his own accord and steal food if he didn’t keep an eye on them.

 

To his surprise, the man began scooping a variety of different food onto his plate.

 

Harry drew himself up so that he could peer at the top of the table and was confused to know that the man hadn’t even bothered to put food on his _own_ plate. Why was he putting food in Harry’s plate?

 

“Eat,” the man ordered gently.

 

Harry’s eyes widened. He looked up at the man, unable to keep the excitement from his voice. “ _I can?_ ”

 

And then the man was making that shocked face again that quickly transformed into a scary one. The same thing happened last night when they first arrived in this place and Snape had shown him to his room.

 

It was a big, spacious room with royal green walls and a cream-colored ceiling. The floor was covered with a cream-colored carpet, and in the middle of the room was a big, Queen-size bed with royal green covers. On one side of the room was a door and on the other side were glass doors, framed by black curtains, leading into the balcony.

 

“This will be your room,” the man had gruffly said.

 

And in his shock, Harry had forgotten his manners and spoke for the first time that night, “No mo’ cubburds?”

 

Then he realized his mistake and slapped both of his hands on his mouth, wondering if he’ll get clocked for speaking out of turn.

 

He chanced a look at the man and saw the shocked face quickly followed by the scary face, but when the man didn’t clock him or even raise a finger, he slowly put his hands down.

 

“No more cupboards,” the man had said firmly. Harry was amazed at that. “Now sleep. I will fetch you in the morning.”

 

And then he left.

 

Of course, Harry didn’t sleep. He had spent the night exploring the room, jumping on the bed and rolling on the carpet. He found out that the door on the side of the room led to a big bathroom with a big bathtub. He opened cabinets and drawers, and even though they were all empty, they still took Harry’s breath away.

 

By the time he was done, he was exhausted enough that he simply curled up on the big, soft bed and promptly fell asleep, not even having enough time to worry about the Bogeyman that Dudley kept on telling him lived under his bed.

 

He didn’t know what happy felt like but he supposed that must be it.

 

And now the man was telling him to eat all these delicious food and wasn’t _fibbing_.

 

“I expect your plate to be licked clean,” the man said calmly after the scary face disappeared.

 

Harry immediately set to work just in case the man decided to change his mind.

 

* * *

 

Snape was a professional when it came to hiding his emotions. He had done it as a child when the relationship of his parents catapulted into disaster. He had done it as a student when James Potter and his posse teased and taunted him. He had done it when Lily told him that she was going to marry James Potter.

 

But this was different.

 

This was a child.

 

He could even ignore the fact that this was _Lily and Potter’s_ child because _this was just a child_.

 

That first night, after making sure that the boy had had enough of his fun exploring his new room and had finally fallen asleep on the bed, he assigned a House Elf to watch over the child, Floo-ed to Dumbledore’s Office, and promptly raised hell.

 

” _Six long years,”_ he had snarled. “ _And you put a stop to this only_ now _?!”_

Dumbledore hadn’t been surprised at his sudden arrival or at the manner that he decided to do it. He remained sitting behind his desk, pushed his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose, and sighed morosely. “I had thought…”

 

“ _You hadn’t_ thought,” Snape had hissed.

 

Dumbledore was calm when he looked at Snape in the eye. A small, sad smile had been on his lips. “I take it that your rightly guided anger towards me means that you will take care of the child?”

 

“I wouldn’t have gotten him out of that wretched household if I didn’t plan on following through my word,” Snape growled and that had been that.

 

The little Potter was his now.

 

And that terrified him.

 

He had no idea how to take care of another human being, much less a child that had no nuance of what the world had in store for him.

 

Much less _Harry Potter_.

 

* * *

 

“He doesn’t know how to read and write,” Snape was listing off in Dumbledore’s Office on the second night. A dark look was on his face. “He knows how to wash dishes, cook a variety of English cuisine, which chemicals are best for polishing marble, and how to weed gardens. He’s _six-year-old,_ Albus. He doesn’t know how to read and write. His speech, if he _does_ speak, consists of three-word utterances at best! I’m lucky that the child even knows how to count to _ten_.”

 

Dumbledore was watching all this with an amused smile. “Then it’s rather convenient that his guardian is a teacher, is it not?”

 

Snape scowled at him, failing to see what he could be finding amusing in all of this. “He doesn’t know _magic_.”

 

At this, Dumbledore sobered. “Yes, I expected as much, and I believe there’s a lot more things that he doesn’t know.”

 

He sent Snape a pointed look to which the man just scoffed at. He knew what Dumbledore was getting at.

 

With a sigh, Dumbledore leaned forward in his desk and looked at Snape from above his crescent-shaped spectacles. “Would you like some help? I could owl Minerva or Professor Sprout. Hmm, Pomona seems to be more suited in teaching that young a child, no?”

 

Snape’s lip curled in disgust. “No,” he found himself saying. “I’ll do this myself.”

 

Dumbledore relaxed in his seat and smiled.

 

Later, when Snape was back in his Manor and on his way to checking on the boy, he’d realize how he had been played.

 

* * *

 

 

The boy was an enthusiastic learner. Snape was surprised himself to know that he could teach such menial things to a child without breaking into a hissing fit of raging impatience. If this was a normal student in Hogwarts, he would have sneered at their lesser intelligence. But as it turned out, this was a six-year-old child who didn’t have an inkling of what A, B, C was.

 

It helped that the child was eager to learn the things that Snape presented him with and, as a result, was a diligent student.

 

He was eternally curious about the things around him. Snape could only imagine just how much those Muggles had closed him off from the world.

 

Showing him the existence of magic didn’t prove as difficult as Snape had predicted it to be.

 

He had imagined the boy running away in fear or crying or locking himself up in his room, but none of those happened in any of the times that Snape levitated a feather, transfigured the chair into a table, or introduced Gritty the House Elf to him.

 

Gritty had Potter yelping out in surprise at first. It wasn’t his fault, Snape supposed. Gritty was an old House Elf that had warts all over his nose and a perpetually sour expression. But after an intense staring session that lasted for minutes, Potter seemed to have decided that Gritty wasn’t about to start hitting him or yelling at him and finally emerged from behind the chair that he was using to hide himself.

 

He had said a small, nervous _hi_ and that was that. Gritty the House Elf nodded in acknowledgement and disappeared with a pop.

 

 _That_ had Potter sporting an expression of amazement.

 

What really proved difficult in the weeks to come was getting the Potter boy to touch him out of his own volition. Snape wasn’t a tactile man himself, but he knew that there wasn’t anything normal about a child who consciously went out of his way to avoid physical contact.

 

The first time it happened was during their first lesson. The boy had been too excited with scribbling squiggly lines on the parchment with a quill that when he reached out to dip the quill in the inkwell, he went farther than the well and nearly touched the nib to Snape’s robes. He had retracted his hand in a flash like it had been burned.

 

The boy dipped the quill in the well and went back to scribbling, but Snape most definitely noticed the trembling of his fingers that hadn’t been there before.

 

Another disturbing incident occurred half an hour later. He was getting the boy to count with his fingers when Potter mistakenly uncurled seven fingers while saying ‘six’. Snape had reached out with the intention of uncurling another finger when Potter flinched, shut his eyes closed, and ducked his head.

 

Needless to say, he had visited Dumbledore again that night spitting venom.

 

Snape did his best to ignore the signs of abuse when they presented themselves. He didn’t know what else to do with them.

 

What he did know, however, that that wasn’t it.

 

* * *

 

Brewing potions for the boy had been easy enough.

 

Explaining to him why being under the sun didn’t hurt anymore was something exponentially more difficult.

 

* * *

 

 

July 31st was the boy’s birthday, Dumbledore had said.

 

Snape had prepared for it, cakes and gifts and balloons and all. In fact, he may have overdone it. He didn’t know how children’s birthdays went. His own last one had been filled with fake smiles and strangers who either pinched his cheeks or looked disapprovingly at him.

 

As he counted the days off the calendar, it was like _he_ was the one waiting for it.

 

The boy certainly made no mention of it.

 

When the 31st rolled by, the boy had gotten out of bed and eaten breakfast quietly as was his wont and didn’t say anything about the day of his birth.

 

At first he had thought that maybe the boy didn’t know his own birthday.

 

Snape had asked then, in the middle of breakfast, in a stiff voice. “How old are you, Po – _Harry_?”

 

The name was still foreign in Snape’s tongue.

 

The boy started at the question, blinking at Snape in surprise. Then, he looked at his hands and started uncurling them one by one, hesitating when he reached the sixth. He stopped after the seventh finger and showed them off to Snape. “Seven,” he said quietly.

 

So the boy knew.

 

Snape cleared his throat. Something seemed to have clogged it. “Then, happy birthday,” he said.

 

The boy’s eyes grew even wider.

 

It was that expression of awe in the boy’s eyes that pushed Snape’s hand into his pocket to curl around his wand. With a flick and a swish, a cake appeared on the table, balloons appeared on the floor, and a neatly-wrapped gift appeared on the chair next to Harry’s.

 

It was the first time he saw the boy cry.

 

* * *

 

Snape wasn’t a fool to think that Dumbledore had exclusively enlisted his help in the caring for the boy. He was a full-time professor after all and he wouldn’t have been able to keep the boy in Hogwarts during the academic year.

 

“But _Black and Lupin?”_ he spat in disgust when the subject matter was brought up one fine evening. “They may as well be fugitives!”

 

The serious look on Dumbledore’s face told him that the decision had been made.

 

“So is Harry,” Dumbledore said grimly. Snape’s mouth closed shut.

 

Dumbledore sighed sadly. “It is only during the academic months. The boy will be with you during the Christmas holidays and during summer vacation, but when you are fulfilling your obligations and earning your keep here in Hogwarts, I found it best to request the assistance of the boy’s godfather.”

 

The snarl on Snape’s face didn’t lessen in vehemence.

 

Dumbledore fixed him with a hard stare. “You know I trust you most in this, Severus. That is why I turned to you. And I also trust that you are mature enough to look past your animosity with Black and Lupin to accept that they will take care of the child as if he was their own.”

 

* * *

 

On the 31st of August, the day before the start of classes in Hogwarts, Severus Snape stood in front of his fireplace with a fidgeting Harry Potter beside him. The boy still didn’t know how to wear robes properly.

 

“Stop moving about, Harry,” he said in a clipped, frustrated tone, but immediately felt chagrined at himself and guilty when the boy flinched. 

 

He couldn’t help it. The apprehension at the thought of Sirius Black and Remus Lupin appearing in his fireplace any minute now did things to his temperance.

 

With a sigh, he knelt down in front of the child and used a finger to gently tilt his head up for their eyes to meet.

 

Snape felt a momentary triumph when the boy didn’t flinch at that touch. There was progress.

 

“I apologize,” he said, and even though his voice was stiff and awkward, the boy’s shy smile told him he was forgiven.

 

“Are you…” the boy started, looking to the side nervously.

 

Snape urged him on as he always did and as part of his efforts to make the child understand that he wasn’t going to get hit for speaking his mind. “Am I what?”

 

The boy, keeping his eyes on the carpet of the living room, shrugged weakly. “Sending me away?”

 

Snape’s breath held.

 

“No –“ He found himself croaking out on impulse. “Absolutely not.” Inwardly, he cursed himself. He should have explained this better. “I have to… work for a while. But I can’t take you with me. It’s too dangerous and I don’t want you to get hurt. So I asked the help of some… _friends –“_ Snape tried very hard to keep his lip from curling in disgust. “—to take care of you for me while I’m away.”

 

The boy was still looking at him dubiously and Snape knew then, without a doubt, that lying would only reverse all of his efforts for the past two months to earn the boy’s trust.

 

 “I’ll come back for you during the Christmas holidays,” he said softly.

 

The boy looked miserable at that but Snape was proud of his effort to put on a brave face afterwards. “Are they nice?” Harry whispered.

 

Something tore inside Snape when he forced himself to say, “Yes. They are. And they’ll take care of you better than I can.”

 

But whatever that was, it was instantly healed when Harry looked at him disbelievingly and exclaimed, “But you’ve already taken care of me best!”

 

Then, realizing what he just said and how loud he had said it, turned beet red.

 

The warmth that bloomed in Snape’s chest terrified him.

 

At that moment, the Floo blared to life with green flames and out came Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

 

What happened next was a series of quick events that Snape was too detached from to experience properly.

 

What Snape saw clearly, however, was the array of emotions that crossed Black’s face when his eyes landed on the boy. He didn’t even make notice of Snape. Black’s face transformed from disbelief, to despair, and to relief in a matter of a second and he had immediately dashed forward, on his knees, to hold the boy to his chest and sob.

 

It was probably his crying – a big man crying and sobbing his heart out – that prevented Harry from flinching away from the sudden touch.

 

Snape couldn’t muster enough hatred within him to feel happy at the sight of Black in tears.

 

“Severus,” Lupin greeted politely.

 

Snape nodded at him shortly and quickly went to business, speaking in low tones so that Harry wouldn’t hear. Although, with Black howling _“Harry, Harry, Harry”_ in his ear, he wouldn’t have heard even if Snape spoke in his normal volume.

 

“He knows the alphabet now. He can read and write although he’s a bit slow. Start teaching him math. And magic. I haven’t taken him outside of the Manor, nor have I told him…” he trailed off with a vague wave towards the boy, who was standing stock still, green eyes wide and confused as to why the big man was crying.

 

Snape cleared his throat, aware of Lupin’s too inquisitive gaze.

 

“He’s a stranger to touch,” he said instead. He met Lupin’s eyes levelly. “Reprimand him if need be, but do not yell at him, do not raise a hand at him, and do not show any acts of anger in front of him, lest you want all of us to go back to square one. And for Merlin’s sake, do not let him near any cupboard under the stairs or do any household chore on his own.”

 

Lupin’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, no doubt wondering about specificity of Snape’s instructions. “Why…?”

 

“ _Muggles._ ” Snape sneered.

 

He let the implications of his words dawn on Lupin and was satisfied when the werewolf’s eyes widened and his breath hitched. He rummaged into one of the front pockets of his robes and pulled out two miniature suitcases.

 

“His potion against the sun,” he said, holding the black suitcase up between his thumb and forefinger. “Give it to him on days that he wishes to go out. And –“ He held the brown suitcase up this time. “Your Wolfsbane potion.”

 

Lupin’s eyes widened once more. “You finished…?”

 

Snape nodded stiffly, not knowing what to do with the gratitude in Lupin’s face. “Owl me how it fares if you wish.”

 

Lupin took both suitcases and put them in the pocket of his trousers. “Thank you,” he whispered earnestly and glanced down at Harry, who still had Black all over him but was now looking at the two of them in confusion. Lupin wore his best smile and directed it at Harry, even as he spoke his words for Snape. “And for Harry.”

 

Snape nodded. “Now leave. I opened the wards for you to apparate Harry through.”

 

Moments later, as they all stood to leave, Black – who had wiped his face clean of snot and tears – nodded awkwardly at Snape. “Thank you,” he said gruffly.

 

Snape said nothing and glanced at Harry. He was surprised to feel a sense of possessiveness and jealousy at the way the boy was holding on to Black’s robes.

 

“Chris’mas?” Harry asked unsurely, shyly.

 

Snape tried to keep the corners of his lips from twitching upwards. “Christmas,” he confirmed.

 

With two pops, he was finally left alone in his Manor.

 

Just like he had always been.

 

He wasn’t sure just when he had gotten attached to the boy, but giving the boy away, even if it was only temporary, stung.

 

There was only one way to describe the pain:

 

It felt like losing Lily all over again.

 

* * *

 

Sirius Black certainly hadn’t expected meeting James’ son again to turn out like this. The boy had been just a baby, barely three months old, when Sirius last saw him.

 

He had had so many plans for this child.

 

He had planned on showering him with all kinds of toys, taking him for daredevil broomstick rides around London behind his parents’ backs, and teaching him how to be a mean Chaser. He had dreamed of the child as a toddler, chubby and goofy smiles, to squeal in joy whenever Sirius would transform into a dog and back.

 

He had dreamed of buying the kid’s first broomstick and of James and Lily admonishing him for spoiling their son rotten.

 

But then Halloween happened and… Dumbledore said that the boy was safer off living with the Muggles.

 

For the past six years, Sirius had plenty of time to imagine what life with the Muggles was like for his godson. He had imagined… no, he had _wished_ for them to be just like James and Lily. That the Muggles would love Harry and care for him like he was their own and that toy cars and action figures would take the place of broomsticks and toy Snitches.

 

That was how he comforted himself – how he appeased his guilt of not being able to take care of his own godson.

 

But seeing the boy again… It opened up that dam of guilt that he had desperately tried, for six years, to hold back.

 

It didn’t help that the boy was _so_ quiet.

 

Harry wasn’t supposed to be quiet.

 

That wasn’t part of Sirius’ plans or dreams for the child.

 

He was supposed to be energetic, exuberant, bursting with activity and life, just like James and Lily had been. He was supposed to be mischievous like Sirius, clever like Remus… He wasn’t supposed to look so _fearful_ all the time.

 

That first night, after they had sent the child to bed, Sirius stayed up all night, unable to sleep, unable to keep the excitement, the relief, the _dread_ down. They finally had Harry. _James, we’ve got him,_ he kept on saying in his head.

 

At around two in the morning, Remus bid him good night. But Sirius knew better.

 

He knew Remus wouldn’t get a wink of sleep either.

 

As for him, he spent the hours away in front of the fireplace, biting his nails, pacing, keeping his hands from trembling. He was _terrified_. He had no idea how to take care of a child.

 

They both knew Remus was going to end up doing all the boring stuff, like teaching the kid _math_. Sirius wasn’t cut out for that. He didn’t know what to do.

 

 _He had had so many plans_.

 

But none for the following morning to come.

 

So he did what he only knew to do.

 

The next morning, he taught the kid how to fly.

 

* * *

 

Remus thought he was doing a fine job teaching the boy things about the Wizarding World. He had told him about Hogwarts and the wonder of the place and how Harry was going to study there when he turned eleven, just like his mom and dad, just like Sirius and Remus, just like Severus.

 

“But you’re going to have to call him Professor Snape once you’re there,” he had said with light humor.

 

Harry’s nose had scrunched up. “That’d be weird,” he had replied, to which Sirius – who had been sitting in on their ‘class’ that day – guffawed loudly at.

 

Remus also told him about wands and potions _(“Severus is exceptionally good at them.”)_ and magical plants and owls and House Elves and creatures big and small that Muggles believed only existed in fairytales.

 

“Muggles have made up all sorts of things about magical beings,” he had explained. “For example, mermaids aren’t very nice at all.”

 

He liked to think he was doing a very good job teaching Harry all about the Wizarding World. It also helped that Grimmauld Place held a very large library with a wide variety of books and that Harry was an ever curious student.

 

But it was only three months into Harry’s stay that he realized just how much.

 

“You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?” Harry asked him one night after the full moon when Remus had lain in bed, still too weak to continue their lesson on subtraction.

 

Sirius was downstairs trying to get Kreacher started on dinner and chicken soup for Remus, which left the latter alone with Harry’s curious eyes that shone bright against the darkness with only the light of the moon from the window.

 

Remus shivered from the cold both outside and within him.

 

But then Harry breathed out with a shy, tentative grin: “I think it’s cool.” Then, afraid that Remus might take it the wrong way, quickly added, “But I don’t like how you always get hurt every month.”

 

Remus released the breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief flooded through his whole system so unexpectedly that his eyes started to get warm. He had long since forgotten what acceptance felt like. He only ever got it from Sirius now but it was different to get it from someone whom you haven’t known for decades.

 

He resolutely pushed down his self-persecution complex that reminded him that Harry was just saying that because he hasn’t been outside – doesn’t know what the Wizarding World thought of werewolves – because what else mattered but Harry accepting him?

 

“Thank you,” he breathed out and hoped his smile was enough for the boy to recognize and accept his outstretched arms as a request for a hug. Harry did and Remus was warmed.

 

And then Harry asked, so softly and muffled into Remus’ shoulder that he almost didn’t hear: “I’m a vampire, aren’t I?”

 

The cold returned.

 

He had taught the boy well.

 

* * *

 

In one of the many rooms in Grimmauld Place, Harry found a pencil. It was a peculiar thing to find in a magical household. Ever since he left the Dursleys, all he had been writing with were quills that required re-inking every few scratches. Finding a pencil was very strange indeed.

 

The Dursleys never let him use Dudley’s pencils. He was allowed to touch them only if he was going to put them away after Dudley made a mess of them but he was never to use them. He’d seen Dudley write with it or even draw, but Dudley’s drawings were never pretty. Mostly, they were drawings of Harry getting hurt by a badly drawn fire or a knife or a rabid dog.

 

Harry knew it was him because of the crooked circles that made up his eyeglasses and the zigzag scar on his forehead.

 

Harry itched to try the pencil now but he didn’t know what to draw. He was sure he didn’t want to copy Dudley’s drawings though.

 

“There you are, Harry,” came Remus’ relieved voice from the doorway.

 

Harry stood up abruptly from his crouching position in front of an open trunk and hid the pencil behind his back. He didn’t think Remus would get it from him like Aunt Petunia always did but he wanted to be sure. He fidgeted guiltily.

 

Remus’ eyebrow rose at the behaviour. “You really shouldn’t go off this far into the house. You might get hurt by some of the furniture.”

 

“Well, I never! We are not barbarians!” huffed the cabinet behind the hairdresser behind one of the tables in the room.

 

“Sorry,” Remus said, still focused on Harry’s hand that was hidden behind his back. Then, he looked at the trunk beside the boy and flushed slightly. “Oh, dear, you’ve gone and found my old school trunk, have you?”

 

Harry’s eyes widened. “It’s yours?”

 

Remus nodded, stepping closer to look down at the contents of the trunk. His things had been neatly arranged when he last left it but was now a haphazard mess. He smiled in amusement. “Did you find anything that you like?”

 

Harry’s ears were red.

 

Remus smiled wider. “Well, you can keep it.”                                                                

 

“ _I can?”_ Harry squeaked out, looking at him in amazement. Then, with a guilty shift of his eyes, procured the pencil from behind him. “I found this. I’m sorry I hid it,” he mumbled miserably.

 

Remus was surprised that the object the boy had hid was merely a pencil. The surprise didn’t last long, however, when he thought of how the boy must have been longing for remnants of the Muggle world.

 

“It’s alright, Harry,” he comforted, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair. “It must have surprised you to see a pencil in this old house.”

 

Harry nodded. “Aunt Petunia never let me use Dudley’s pencils, so I wanted to try drawing…” he trailed off, flushing.

 

The hot rage that churned in Remus’ stomach then was a familiar sensation by now. It happened every time they were reminded of how those Muggles had treated Harry – kind, kind Harry – which was happening a lot more frequently. Remus was happy that Harry was being more open to them now, but it was getting harder and harder to restrain Sirius from going to Little Whinging and hexing the family since Harry’s mentions of them were getting more and more detailed.

 

“I have some more here,” Remus said instead, kneeling down and rummaging through the mess of his trunk in an effort to push his anger down. “I’ll give them to you and I’ll teach you how to draw a dog.”

 

* * *

 

Harry’s first drawing of a dog included a messily scribbled ‘SIRIUS’ on the side.

 

Sirius laughed so much that tears sprang to his eyes and he hugged Harry in pretty much the same way he did during the first time they met in Snape Manor.

 

Harry hugged him back, and that, Remus supposed, was probably what made Sirius start crying for real.

 

* * *

 

 

“What is this?” Snape asked during one cold night in December.

 

Harry was sprawled on the floor of the living room in front of the fireplace, parchment and pencils strewn all over the carpet around him. On the parchment were various drawings of… dogs.

 

Snape valiantly tried to keep his lip from curling in disgust lest he send the wrong message to the boy. The drawings were very nice for a seven-year-old though. They were rather realistic, only a bit rough on the edges, and one can see the parts in the drawing when Harry had pressed the pencil too deeply. However, they all looked suspiciously like… _Black_.

 

Or maybe that was just because all the dogs were all shaded rather darkly.

 

Snape pinched his nose and bit his tongue to keep himself from saying anything that might sound like he was insulting Harry’s artistic prowess.

 

Harry turned beet red and tried to hide the few drawings that he could reach using his small hands. “Uhm, Remus gave me some pencils and…”

 

Ah. That would explain the over tendency to draw mutts.

 

There was nothing for it.

 

He would have to remedy this immediately.

 

With a sigh, he sat down on the floor next to Harry and took one of the pencils lying around.

 

He taught Harry how to draw a lily.

 

* * *

 

And so became of Harry’s new life in this magical new world.

 

During the Christmas and summer vacations, he would stay with Severus. When Severus was required to be in Hogwarts, he stayed with Sirius and Remus. He never really did know why Severus and Sirius didn’t like each other very much but they got along just fine as long as they never really saw each other.

 

They never once took him outside to meet with other people.

 

Harry never asked.

 

Without having been outside, he didn’t feel the yearning for it. Besides, there was plenty to do in the many rooms of Grimmauld Place and the large expanse of Snape Manor. If he wanted sunlight and fresh air, all he had to do was take his potion and run around the Manor’s gardens. Or find a room in Grimmauld Place that had a window that wasn’t barred up. Or take the broomstick that Sirius gave him on his eighth birthday and fly above the clouds. He was allowed to fly as long as he didn’t talk to anyone or let them see him.

 

The three men gave him everything he needed – even things he was too shy to ask for.

 

And, after having gotten nothing during his stay with the Dursleys, he wanted nothing more.

 

* * *

 

When he was ten years old, in the same room that he found Remus’ old school trunk, he found another trunk. It was in one of the corners near the door, wedged awkwardly between two cabinets and hidden by other taller furniture.

 

 _DO NOT OPEN_ , it read, so naturally, Harry opened it.

 

In it, he found bundles of parchment with graphs and drawings of a lot of circles with small text scribbled around them, but he didn’t understand half of the words that he read so he just put them to the side to grab another item.

 

He went through a box with hourglasses of different shapes and sizes, some dried inkwells and a few broken quills, before he found the golden box with the label that read: L I L Y.

 

Heart pounding in his chest, he took the box from the trunk, holding it with the utmost care. Severus, Sirius and Remus all had given him the things that had once belonged to his parents – things that they borrowed but never got to return – but they were few and this was the first time that Harry found one on his own.

 

As if his parents were still alive and Harry was their curious child who wandered off to far in the house when they weren’t looking and went through all their important stuff.

 

Carefully, Harry opened the lid.

 

That was how he found the Time Turner.

 

* * *

 

He read all about Time Turners after that.

 

After he was done going through the Black library, he went through Snape’s and kept it his very own secret. He didn’t know if they’d still let him keep it if he knew he had one but, judging from the things he read, they probably wouldn’t.

 

He wouldn’t use it for bad stuff though. In fact, he wouldn’t use it at all.

 

He just wanted to be able to keep it in his pocket at all times and feel its weight – a reminder that he _did_ have real parents who loved him.

 

* * *

 

The first time that Draco Malfoy met Harry Potter was during a hot, summer day in August when they were both eleven years old.

 

His father was supposed to go somewhere in Romania for ‘business’ and his mother was going to visit a sick relative in Venice for a whole two weeks. They would both be back a few days before the first of September, just in time to accompany Draco in Diagon Alley and buy him new robes and school supplies.

 

Draco was used to this. He had been shipped like cargo from one set of relatives to the next all throughout his childhood and he liked to think that, from the experience, he had learned a great deal how to butter pompous adults up. He was very good at _buttering_ , in fact, that he always managed to get his aunts and uncles to relay information that they otherwise wouldn’t give to a child.

 

At age eleven, Draco was smart enough to know that his father really was going to Romania for ‘business’ but that the ‘business’ wasn’t the financial and economical kind, and that his mother _wasn’t_ going to Venice to visit a sick relative because there _was_ no relative in Venice to begin with. His mother just wanted a two-week vacation from the ever tedious task of a trophy wife and the more tedious task of a mother.

 

But this time was different though because they were leaving him with Uncle Severus, his godfather, and Uncle Severus wasn’t a man easily buttered – which was precisely why Draco enjoyed being with him so much and why Draco had looked forward to his stay in the man’s Manor more than he had ever looked forward to Christmases.

 

When he arrived in Snape Manor through the Floo, however, he was stupefied to see a boy – looking roughly the same age as him – waiting with Uncle Severus for him.

 

He was even _more_ stupefied when he saw the scar.

 

“ _Harry Potter?_ ” he blurted out, completely forgetting his manners and ogling.

 

The boy’s green eyes widened behind his large spectacles and shifted closer to Snape, who was watching Draco with wary eyes.

 

Draco, too caught up with his excitement to notice their expressions, stepped forward and shoved his face in front of Harry’s. A big grin was on his young face. “Is it true? Is it true you’re a vampire?”

 

Harry started at the sudden invasion of personal space but otherwise didn’t move back. He was confused by the fact that the boy knew him and that he was a vampire, but reckoned that Severus must have told him.

 

He still felt uncomfortable saying yes though, but nod he did.

 

Draco’s eyes lit up like fairy lights. “ _Wicked_ ,” he breathed out.

 

Unbeknownst to the two boys, Snape’s tense shoulders relaxed. “Draco,” he said in a firm voice, giving the blond boy a pointed look down his nose. “Mind your manners.”

 

Flushing slightly, Draco stepped back, and Harry breathed out a sigh of relief at regaining his personal space back. He was surprised when a hand was shoved in front of him instead.

 

He looked back up at the boy’s face and saw the winning smile there.

 

“Draco Malfoy,” the boy said. “I’m terribly sorry for forgetting to introduce myself.”

 

Feeling a little bit silly at the formality, Harry cautiously reached out a hand and shook Draco’s. “Harry Potter.” Then, he shrugged. “It’s alright.”

 

Satisfied, Snape nodded at the two boys. “Harry, show Draco around. I have work to do. Be ready for dinner at six o’clock sharp.”

 

He actually didn’t have work to do. It was the first time for Harry to meet someone who was the same age as him and Snape wanted him to get a feel for it on his own. In other words, he wanted the two to become friends, seeing as they were going to be spending the next two weeks together.

 

More specifically, he wanted Harry to _have_ a friend.

 

And his boisterous godson seemed to be doing spectacularly well, talking Harry’s ear off about Malfoy Manor, oblivious to Harry’s surprised but amused look.

 

Convinced that the two boys were going to be just fine for the next few hours, Snape left for his laboratory with a light heart.

 

* * *

 

“So, you’re _really_ a vampire?” Draco asked an hour later after Harry was done with the tour of the mansion. They were in the front gardens now, where Harry was still touring him around in, but he couldn’t contain himself anymore. He had minded his manners for the past hour, listening attentively to Harry’s simple descriptions of the boy’s room and giving his own comments and comparisons with his own home, and figured that that was good enough.

 

Uncle Severus should be proud of him.

 

Harry paused, arm raised halfway in the middle of pointing to the fountain where water flowed from a statue of Panacea, goddess of universal remedy. He didn’t know why Draco was so curious. Severus, Sirius and Remus never made a big fuss out of it, so he supposed all wizards didn’t think much of vampires, not like how the Muggles did.

 

He nodded.

 

Draco’s face lit up. “So it’s not true that vampires burn under the sun?”

 

Harry blinked. He looked down at his arms and remembered the days of long ago when he still weeded Aunt Petunia’s garden. “We do, but Severus makes a potion for me that allows me to go out during the day. I took one earlier, because he said you might like to fly around a bit.”

 

Draco nodded excitedly. “I’d like that, when we’re done with the tour,” he said, and, without missing a beat, followed up on his question. “What about blood?” he asked, curious eyes boring into Harry’s. “Do you feel like sucking my blood right now?”

 

For someone who was asking that question, Draco didn’t look at all concerned for the possible decrease of the volume of his blood.

 

Harry’s nose scrunched up at the thought. As a child, he had thought that vampires only fed on blood, but just like what Remus had told him once, _“Muggles have made up all sorts of things about magical beings.”_

 

He has certainly never felt any urges to suck blood and was very happy eating real food.

 

He shook his head. “I’ve never drank blood,” he said, eyebrows still furrowed together at the thought. “And I don’t want to drink yours,” he added quickly.

 

Draco pursed his lips in confusion, as if he was perplexed that Harry didn’t want to drink his blood. “But aren’t vampires supposed to drink blood?”

 

Harry shook his head again. Maybe kid wizards were told the same myths about magical beings as Muggles. “Vampires can,” he said, remembering what he read in a book once. It was a boring book, one with a lot of small text and no pictures at all, but it told him what he wanted to know – and what he didn’t.

 

“But if we start drinking a person’s blood, we’ll need that person’s blood our whole lives. It doesn’t sound very fun, sucking blood,” he finished with a thoughtful frown.

 

The book also told him that at the mature age of 18, vampires start to _need_ human blood, which leads them to biting their First Donor and consequently being dependent on them their whole lives. Harry didn’t want to tell this new boy that nor did he want to think about it himself.

 

The book also told him that being a vampire was a _disease_.

 

“No, it doesn’t,” Draco agreed with a dejected sigh. Then, he immediately perked up again. “Well? What vampire abilities do you have?”

 

“ _Vampire abilities?_ Uhm, well, I have really sharp fangs?”

 

“Oh, wicked! Can I see?”

 

Harry looked at him, amused. He could feel the beginnings of a grin threaten to worm its way up to his lips.

 

This boy was interesting.

 

* * *

 

“Well, well, I’m impressed, Harry,” Draco said two more hours later as they landed on the balcony of Harry’s room. Both of their hairs were windblown and their cheeks were flushed, bitten by the wind. Draco collapsed on one of the chairs and leaned his broomstick on the edge of the balcony. A smug smirk was on his lips. “I’ve never met anyone who could match my speed.”

 

Harry was surprised at how at ease he felt around this new boy and easily smiled back. “Match? I think I bested you during that last run, Draco.”

 

Even the new name rolled off his tongue so easily.

 

Draco’s eyes twinkled at the challenge. “You wish, Potter.”

 

Harry grinned. “Don’t have to.”

 

In a flash, they were both off the balcony and back up in the air, their laughter and light taunts echoing in the wind.

 

From the window of his laboratory, Snape looked pretty smug with himself.

 

* * *

 

“That’s asphodel, not a lily, although asphodel’s part of the lily family too,” Draco was explaining three days into his stay as they crouched over a small portion of Snape Manor’s garden that held a variety of flowering plants.

 

“My mother’s name is Lily,” said Harry because he didn’t know what to reply to what Draco had just said.

 

Draco had been talking non-stop ever since they stepped on the garden, naming all the plants and flowers he could identify, and while Harry really was interested, he didn’t know he could remember all of them.

 

The flowers, he might, because they were so pretty and had very distinguishable features, unlike the ferns, which didn’t look very different to Harry at all.

 

“That’s a pretty name,” Draco said politely. “There! That’s a white lily. Your mother must have been beautiful just like it.”

 

He was used to saying pretty words that he didn’t mean just to get others to like him, but this was different. Harry had told him all about his parents six hours into meeting each other, mainly due to Draco’s persuasion and curiosity, and the longing on Harry’s face when he related the story made Draco want to make him feel better.

 

(Harry had also told him that he had no idea how he had defeated this Voldemort guy, since he was just three months old, and the offhanded way that he had mentioned the Dark Lord’s name had made Draco wince.)

 

Draco pointed to another bunch of flowers just a short distance from the lilies. “That’s a narcissus. My mother’s name is Narcissa.”

 

“That’s also a pretty name,” Harry said to return the favour.

 

“Ohh, look at this! It’s an amaryllis. It’s really beautiful, don’t you think?”

 

Harry smiled at the flower in full-bloom, the colour of its petals transforming from yellow at the root to a pure white and then to a soft blush of pink. “It is.”

 

“I didn’t think that amaryllises grew here, but Uncle Severus probably uses magic on his garden to keep all kinds of plants no matter the season.” Draco rattled on, his cheeks flushed with excitement at all the flora. “Mother and Father just keep our garden nice and pretty, but they don’t know much about plants at all.”

 

Harry grinned at him. “And _you_ seem to know a lot about plants.”

 

Draco sniffed haughtily in the air. “I plan to be a great Potioneer like Uncle Severus one day, so I _have_ to. Besides, aren’t they interesting?”

 

Harry didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. He nodded with a smile.

 

Draco flashed him a beaming smile right back. “Right. Let’s go to the shrubs next.”

 

He stood up from his crouching position and brushed his knees although they hardly touched the ground at all. When he took a step forward though, his foot got caught on a wayward vine and he lost his balance.

 

He fell on his knees, on top of small rocks, and he cried out in pain as they dug against his skin.

 

Harry was beside him in an instant, moving him out of the rock’s way so that he was on his bum.Harry kneeled in front of him and his panicked eyes stared straight into Draco’s. “Merlin, Draco, are you okay? Uhm, I need to call Severus, _bloody hell_ , you’re –“ He choked, eyes widening at the brightness of the colour red on Draco’s knees. “ _Bleeding.”_

Draco, who was blushing and just a little bit teary-eyed from the shame and impact of his fall, found his embarrassment slowly ebb away to make way for confusion. His knees _hurt_ but they were really just scratches. If he was in any other relatives’ place, he’d have made a big scene and cried his heart out, if only to get the adults to buy him whatever he wanted so that he wouldn’t tattle to his parents that they hadn’t taken care of him well.

 

But this was Uncle Severus’ place and Uncle Severus never fell for his tricks and, well, Harry was looking really scared and concerned and Draco’s never had anyone really _worry_ for him like that.

 

Not even his own parents. His own parents would have clucked their tongues at him and admonished him for not being careful enough.

 

Draco peered closely at Harry’s panicked eyes. “Do you feel like sucking my blood _now_?” he asked, blinking innocently.

 

Harry pulled back and looked at him incredulously, as if he was out of his mind. “ _No_ , I don’t – ugh, Draco, we need to get you inside – how could you even –“

 

And then Draco was laughing, laughing so hard that he started clutching at his stomach and bending over sideways to avoid his knees. He could feel tears forming behind his eyes, which was worsened when he chanced a look at Harry and saw that the boy had a gobsmacked expression on his face and was red to the ears.

 

“Oh, this is new,” he heaved out between bursts of laughter.

 

Harry collected enough of himself to close his opened mouth and to look at Draco indignantly. “Well, if you’re so happy, then I don’t think I should worry at all anymore.”

 

And with that, he stood up and stomped off.

 

Draco’s laughter was cut short. “Wha – hey – _Harry!”_

 

Harry didn’t look back.

 

Draco felt an unfamiliar feeling creep up on him. He frowned, confused. It never mattered to him before if he’d offended any of his friends. He teased Pansy and insulted Blaise _all the time_. Let’s not even talk about Crabbe and Goyle.

 

He frowned. Whatever this unfamiliar feeling was, he didn’t like it.

 

With a wince, he stretched his bent knees and stood up. Ignoring the slight pinch of pain, he jogged to catch up with Harry.

 

“ _Harry!”_

 

Harry probably wasn’t trying very hard to get away because Draco caught up to him in no time even with his skinned knees.

 

Draco reached out a hand to close around Harry’s wrist and gently pull him back.

 

“I’m s –“ Draco started and then winced at the fact that he almost said the word _sorry_. Harry raised an eyebrow. Draco tried again.

 

“I’ve never had anyone worry for me like that before,” he admitted, fidgeting under Harry’s gaze even though Draco was easily the taller one. “It was…” he swallowed, feeling his cheeks slowly warm. “It was nice, okay?” he grumbled out.

 

At that, Harry’s tense shoulders relaxed. “Well, you were laughing at me, so I thought…” he grumbled back, cheeks still red as well. He peered up at Draco through his fringe. “No one’s ever worried about you?” he asked awkwardly.

 

He remembered the Dursleys and thought that maybe Draco experienced the same thing.

 

Draco shook his head. “No,” he sighed dramatically. “Mother and Father just scold me for getting my clothes dirty and then magic away my injuries.” He scoffed, jutting his lower lip out in a pout.

 

Harry tried to keep himself from smiling but figured he probably failed.

 

“And about the sucking my blood thing,” Draco continued, shrugging awkwardly. “I was just trying to make you laugh.”

 

This time, Harry didn’t even try to keep the grin back. “It was a horrible joke,” he said lightly.

 

Draco shrugged.

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said, twisting his wrist to get out of Draco’s grasp only for his fingers to wrap around Draco’s wrist instead. He tugged him along. “Let’s get you to Severus.”

 

“So I’m forgiven?” Draco asked as he beamed at Harry’s back.

 

Harry snorted and looked behind his shoulder as they entered the Manor. “You didn’t ask for forgiveness at all.”

 

Draco shrugged again unrepentantly.

 

“Hey, it was a valiant effort.”

 

* * *

 

On the twelfth day of Draco’s stay, mid-morning found the two of them separated by a door.

 

“ _Draco?”_ Harry called for the fifth time, his voice muffled by the fact that he had his nose and lips pressed against the door to Draco’s room. He pulled back and pressed his ear next.

 

Harry sighed. “Draco, if you don’t open this door, I’ll call Severus to open it for me.”

 

The lock clicked and the door opened just a crack – just wide enough for Draco to peer through with one eye narrowed accusingly at Harry. “That’s unfair,” he mumbled out.

 

Harry smiled slightly to himself at how red Draco’s eye was. He didn’t like the idea of Draco crying but the thought that the other boy had cried _for him_ made him feel warm inside. “Come on, let me in,” he said and wormed a leg through the crack.

 

Draco stepped aside for Harry to push the door open and leaned against the wall beside the door frame. He slid down to the floor and curled his knees to his chest, pouting petulantly at the floor.

 

Harry was amused. _He_ was the one who was supposed to pout petulantly. He closed the door and plopped down beside Draco. “Have you been crying?”

 

“Absolutely not,” came the haughty answer.

 

“Okay,” Harry said to mollify him.

 

Draco took a deep, shuddery breath. “I forgot you had to take your potion to go out,” he said miserably. “I couldn’t sleep last night so I waited until sunrise to wake you and drag you outside because I really wanted to fly with you.”

 

Harry relaxed against the wall and pulled his knees up to his chest as well, mimicking Draco’s position. He didn’t know why, but he just felt really, really warm and happy at Draco’s words right now.

 

“I forgot that you… I’m sor…” Draco cringed and took another deep breath. “I mean, about your skin…” he trailed off, making vague motions with his hand towards Harry’s arms that were wound around his own knees.

 

Harry outstretched his arms in front of him. “It’s fine,” he said, shrugging. “I’m fine. I heal very fast. It’s another one of my _vampire abilities_ ,” he quipped, using Draco’s term for it to get a smile out of him.

 

He didn’t.

 

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t have needed to heal if it weren’t because of me,” Draco muttered against the top of his knees. He cringed again. “So I guess I’m… sor… err…”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. For the past few days he’d known Draco, he never could get past the first syllable of the word _sorry_. He shifted a bit so that his shoulder bumped with Draco’s.

 

“I forgive you,” he said loudly. Draco’s head shot up to look at him in surprise and confusion as to why his voice was so loud. Harry swallowed and continued. “And I took my potion already, so if you’re still up for that broomstick race…” he trailed off and was relieved when Draco finally smiled.

 

* * *

 

It was on the thirteenth day that Narcissa Malfoy came to Snape Manor unannounced.

 

Harry and Draco had been back in the garden, collecting the herbs on the list that Severus gave them and getting their hands dirty, when Narcissa called from the terrace.

 

“Draco!”

 

Draco’s ears had perked up at once and a wide smile lit up his face as he stood up from his crouching position and started walking towards his mother. “Mother! You’re back!”

 

Harry stood up as well, watching how Draco and his mother hugged. Something in him hurt then, but he didn’t know if it was the sight of Draco touching someone else after nearly two weeks of having him solely to himself (Severus not included because Severus was… Severus.) or the sight of such motherly care or both.

 

Would his mother hug him too?

 

He hoped she would.

 

Aunt Petunia certainly never did.

 

With a start, Harry realized that he actually wanted this woman to _like_ him.

 

“ _Harry!”_ Draco called out from the terrace, his grin big and wide. “Come here!”

 

Despite his nervousness, Harry felt his lips tug upwards into a smile at the excitement on Draco’s face – but the smile quickly dissolved into nothing when the woman took one distasteful look at him and quickly ushered Draco inside the house with a firm hand on his back.

 

Stomach churning, Harry followed.

 

He was near the living room when he heard mother and son arguing.

 

“—introduce you to him!” Draco was yelling.

 

“Do not use that tone with me, Draco.”

 

“…Yes, mother.”

 

“Good. Now, I don’t want you near that boy again, do you hear me? Merlin knows you might have gotten his _disease_. If only I had known that Severus was actually keeping something like thathere, I would have sent you to your Aunt Anabelle.”

 

Harry felt his fingertips go cold. He vaguely heard Draco growl but it was getting harder to concentrate on the words with the loud sound of his blood rushing in his ears.

 

“Harry is not a _thing_ , Mother, and he is not _diseased_!”

 

“Do not use that tone –“

 

“He’s my _friend_!”

 

Harry’s eyes widened. _Friend_. They were _friends_. Draco actually thought they were friends. Harry didn’t know how people became friends. Dudley had _friends_ but his friends were never very nice to Harry. Draco was the first and only person his age that he really enjoyed being around with, and Draco said they were _friends_.

 

Narcissa’s tone as she said her next words were sharp and final. “You will not be friends with a _monster_ , Draco.”

 

A flurry of movement beside Harry made him jump in shock, but he quickly calmed down after realizing that it was just Severus. The calm didn’t last for long, however, as all sorts of emotions attacked him then. He felt embarrassment that he had been caught eavesdropping and shame at the realization that Severus had heard the words that Draco’s mother had said.

 

What if Severus started thinking about him as a monster too?

 

Then, as he chanced a look at Severus’ face, the shock returned as he saw the cold fury in the man’s face.

 

Severus bypassed him completely and entered the living room.

 

Harry kept himself hidden, heart throbbing painfully in his chest but at the same time feeling rather numb about what was happening.

 

He continued listening.

 

“Severus! Why didn’t you tell me that you’ve been keeping that _creature_ –“

 

_“Narcissa.”_

 

Harry shivered. He had never heard Severus speak like that. His voice was so cold that Harry could imagine the whole of Snape Manor’s garden freezing over.

 

“Refrain from speaking ill of my charge and I shall refrain from _throwing you out_.”

 

Silence followed. No one spoke. Harry held his breath just in case they might hear it. It was that quiet.

 

Severus spoke again. “Harry and Draco have gotten along famously well since day one and have, in fact, been inseparable. Let me be the one to inform you that Draco has enjoyed himself a great deal being with Harry – a fact that you may have realized on your own earlier _had you actually stopped to listen toyour son_.”

 

A sharp intake of breath.

 

Harry recognized it as Narcissa’s.

 

“Draco.” Narcissa’s voice was just as cold. “We are leaving. I shall arrange for Dobby to come back and get your belongings. Say goodbye to Uncle Severus and thank him for his hospitality.”

 

“But – I want to _stay_ –“

 

“ _Draco_.”

 

Another stretch of silence and then…

 

“…Thank you for your hospitality, Uncle Severus.”

 

Harry felt like crying.

 

He didn’t want to listen anymore.

 

He covered his ears with his hands, and yet he still heard everything. The shuffling of feet, the sound of cinder being crushed, and Narcissa’s parting words:

 

_“You should have never been friends with that boy.”_

 

And then the burst of flames.

 

When Severus emerged from the living room and looked at him, his expression pinched and unsure and _concerned_ , Harry forgot himself and dashed forward to throw his arms around Severus’ waist, bury his face in Severus’ robes, and _cry_.

 

That was the first time he realized that the Wizarding World was not very accepting of vampires.

 

* * *

 

“Come on, kiddo,” Sirius said three days later as he emerged from the Floo of Snape Manor. “Moony’s already in Diagon Alley waiting for us. Snivellus isn’t here?”

 

Despite his downtrodden mood, the edges of Harry’s lips twitched up slightly at the name. The childish feud between Severus and Sirius amused him more than it made him concerned. “He’s working on some last minute lesson plans.”

 

“Ah,” Sirius said wisely and waved his hand in a grandiose motion. “Ever the great professor.”

 

Harry couldn’t resist anymore. He chuckled.

 

Sirius looked at him and smiled softly. He kneeled in front of Harry and pushed the boy’s chin up with a finger. “Snivellus told us everything,” he said lightly.

 

“Nuh-uh,” he tutted when Harry flushed and tried to duck his head.

 

Reluctantly, Harry raised his eyes back into Sirius’. The man beamed at him.

 

“Now you don’t listen to what my dear cousin told you. She’s flown off the bat just like the rest of my family and, well, we all know what my family’s made off,” he quipped, winking before doing his best impression of Walburga Black’s sour portrait.

 

Harry dissolved into chuckles again before a certain bit of detail caught his attention. “Draco’s mother is your _cousin_?” he asked, gaping.

 

Sirius’ nose scrunched up. “Wish she wasn’t.” Then, his face brightened up. “But I did have a right good time hexing her skirt into snakes once when we were seven.”

 

Harry matched his grin. Sirius’ grins had always been contagious.

 

Sirius’ smile softened. He took away the finger under Harry’s chin and used that hand to ruffle the hair on top of Harry’s head. “You feeling better now?”

 

Harry shot him a grateful smile and nodded. Then, he shifted nervously and said what he had been worrying about ever since Severus told him that Sirius and Remus were scheduled to take him to Diagon Alley to buy him his books and school supplies.

 

“People in Diagon Alley’s not gonna be so nice, will they?”

 

At this, Sirius sobered. He grabbed Harry’s shoulders with both of his hands and looked seriously into Harry’s eyes. “No, they might not be, kiddo. But whatever they say or whatever they do to you, you remember this, okay? You’ve never, ever hurt a single hair on top of anyone’s head, so you don’t have anything to feel bad about. They can say what they want, but we know the truth, and that’s all that matters, alright?”

 

Harry felt warm all over. He smiled at Sirius. “Alright.”

 

Sirius beamed at him and ruffled his hair again. “Good boy. Now, come on. Moony’ll bite both our heads off if we’re late. Now, step inside the fireplace and you take this powder, yeah? Throw it to the floor at the same time you say…”

 

* * *

 

Harry had prepared for this day, the day when he would finally be allowed into the outside world. Remus and Sirius had told him all about Voldemort and the craze of the Wizarding World for Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, which just made his nose scrunch up at the time because the thought that he was famous was _weird_.

 

And then there was the fact that he was a vampire, just like Voldemort, and well, from what happened three days ago with Narcissa Malfoy, he knew now that his being a vampire was going to be a problem.

 

His imagination had actually played with the possibility of everyone screaming and running away from him, because that’s what the normal people in Muggle stories did, didn’t they?

 

He hoped they wouldn’t though.

 

However, an hour into Diagon Alley, he found that the outside world wasn’t quite bad. In fact, it was _magnificent_ and _magical_ and _wonderful_. There were all kinds of shops selling all kinds of things that Harry’s only seen in books before. He saw cauldrons big and small, quills that changed colour depending on the writer’s mood and boots that walked on their own.

 

The people didn’t stare at him at all. Harry actually felt a little silly for not thinking beforehand that if he just kept his hair over his scar then no one would know he was Harry Potter. He had actually thought that maybe he wasn’t famous at all and Sirius and Remus were just exaggerating with their stories, but a visit to the bookstore changed all that. He actually had a whole _bookshelf_ dedicated to him!

 

Sirius cackled over a certain edition with a fictitious drawing of Harry Potter on the cover. “Look, Harry, they drew you with a pointy nose! It’s even pointier than Snivellus’!”

 

By the end of the day, he had new school robes, a complete set of the required books for first years, new quills and inkwells, his own cauldron and his own little set of basic Potions ingredients, and – this was the best one – _his own wand_.

 

Mister Ollivander was a really friendly man who knew who Harry was even as Harry flattened his hair over his forehead, but he was really nice about it and shook Harry’s hands about seven times before he was off between his shelves muttering about phoenix feathers.

 

Harry was a little bit put-out that Sirius and Remus hadn’t let him stop by at the pet shop even though Hogwarts’ letter told him that he could bring his own familiar, but his happiness at everything else overpowered that little disappointment.

 

By the time that he arrived back in Snape Manor, he was actually pretty excited about going to Hogwarts – a feeling that he lost ever since that encounter with Mrs. Malfoy.

 

“See you on September 1st, kiddo,” Sirius said after he had hauled all off Harry’s new things to the side of the room. He slapped Harry heartily on the back and nearly knocked his glasses off.

 

Harry laughed shortly. “Thanks, Sirius, Remus. For all my new stuff and I had a really, really great time,” he said earnestly, hoping that his smile was big enough to convey his gratitude.

 

The two men smiled back.

 

“Anytime!” Sirius winked and knelt down to plant a really wet kiss on Harry’s forehead.

 

Harry scrunched his nose up, but a laugh was on his lips even when he raised a hand to wipe at his forehead.

 

Remus rolled his eyes at their antics. He reached out and patted the boy’s head. “We had a really great time too, Harry,” he said, grinning. Then, he winked as well. “Now, you must be really tired. I suggest you go _straight to your room_.”

 

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion at Remus’ funny tone.

 

Sirius rolled his eyes and threw an arm around Remus’ shoulder. “Come on, old man, you’re probably more tired than he is. Joints already creaking?”

 

Remus elbowed him slightly. “You’re actually older than me or have you turned senile and forgotten?”

 

Harry shook his head in amusement as the bickering continued on, stopping only for them to yell “ _Grimmauld Place!”_ into the fireplace. He had no doubt that the argument would continue even after they have arrived at their destination.

 

Then, curiosity piqued, he ran out of the living room and straight upstairs to his room.

 

There, in the corner of his room near the window, was a slightly thick wooden stick that shot up straight and then curled horizontally as it neared the end.

 

On top of the horizontal part was –

 

Harry’s eyes widened.

 

_A Snowy Owl._

 

Harry let out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He neared the owl, the grin on his lips getting bigger as the owl blinked at him and cocked her head to the side.

 

She was _beautiful_.

 

“Hello,” he breathed out, reaching out to pet with a finger the soft top of her head.

 

She hooted quietly and nuzzled closer to his touch.

 

Then Harry noticed the small roll of parchment attached to her leg.

 

He took the parchment, unrolled it, and couldn’t help the bark of laughter that easily slipped from his lips.

 

_From all three of us, but this was actually Severus’ idea. – Remus_

**_As much as I hate to admit it.–Siri_ **

_Even Severus might hate to admit it, but thank him all the same, Harry. Love, Remus_

**_Love Sirius too!_ **

 

* * *

 

 

“Just go through that wall,” Sirius told him and it wasn’t really Harry’s fault that he whipped his head around to look at Sirius disbelievingly because the man did have a starling record of pranks. Sirius laughed at his expression. “I’m serious, Harry!”

 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know you’re Sirius.”

 

Sirius laughed harder.

 

Remus smiled to himself at the scene the two were making. The house was going to be a lot quieter now without Harry around. Of course Sirius would still make it a point to blow things up around Grimmauld and make a racket, just to spite his mother’s portrait, but it was still different having a child’s laughter ring around the halls.

 

He reached out and placed a hand on Harry’s back to guide him towards Platform 9 ¾. “Sirius is really serious, Harry.”

 

Harry turned his disbelieving stare to Remus. “I _know_ he’s really Sirius, Remus.”

 

It wasn’t his fault he didn’t believe Remus either, because Remus also had a few tricks under his name.

 

Remus laughed right alongside Sirius. “Well, if you don’t believe us… Go on then, Siri. Run right through that wall.”

 

Sirius grabbed the handle of the trolley that was filled with Harry’s things. He winked at Harry first before rolling the trolley forward and promptly disappearing.

 

Harry’s jaw dropped.

 

Remus grinned. “See? I told you he was Sirius.”

 

* * *

 

The Hogwarts Express was majestic. Harry was transfixed with awe just looking at it.

 

All around him were kids wearing the same robes as he was and parents who fussed about the imaginary speck of dust on their children’s faces. Suddenly, he felt a spike of anxiety course through him, fear of this big new adventure ahead of him. What if the other kids didn’t like him? What if studying in Hogwarts was hard? What if the things about magic that Remus taught him wasn’t enough?

 

And what if… what if Draco didn’t talk to him again?

 

He looked around for any sight of that white-blond hair but could only see a mixture of brunettes and gingers. The blonds he saw weren’t the right shade.

 

“I reckon he’s already inside, don’t you?” Remus told him with a wink.

 

Harry flushed at having been caught.

 

Sirius grinned, crouched down low in front of Harry and ruffled his hair. “Go find him inside the train and don’t let my nasty old cousin ruin your fun, yeah? If she does, you just Owl me and I’ll go right up her house and turn her skirt into snakes again.”

 

“Sirius! That’s not very nice!” Remus admonished but a resigned smile was on his lips.

 

Harry grinned. “I’ll Owl you guys even if she doesn’t.”

 

Sirius matched his grin. “’Atta boy.” He ruffled his hair again. “Write lots!”

 

Harry nodded enthusiastically. He rushed forward and threw his arms around Sirius in a hug that was returned tightly. He did the same to Remus.

 

“Thanks,” he whispered breathlessly when he was done. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” he said, a shy smile on his lips and his cheeks pink.

 

Sirius’ smile turned soft. “I think you’d be very sad,” he joked to keep the mood uplifted.

 

Harry thought of a life without them, without Severus, and wondered if he’d be allowed to go to Hogwarts at all if Severus hadn’t taken him from the Dursleys. Would he have learned of this magical world? Would he have met Draco?

 

“I think so too.”

 

* * *

 

Despite what Sirius and Remus said, he found himself a bit nervous and shy to check each compartment on the train for Draco. Instead, he found himself an empty one and hoped that he’d see his friend in Hogwarts instead.

 

 _Friend_.

 

The word still made him smile goofily.

 

And yet there was still that nagging thought at the back of his head that told him that maybe, Mrs. Malfoy said something to Draco that made him not want to be friends with Harry anymore? What if Draco thought that he really was a monster? Even though Harry told him a lot of times that he didn’t want to suck his blood.

 

He frowned, his good mood suddenly plummeting down.

 

At least he was going to see Severus in Hogwarts.

 

That was a familiar face.

 

Severus had told him to call him Professor Snape when he was in Hogwarts and no matter how many times Harry tried it in his head, it still sounded weird. What was Severus like as a professor? Harry imagined he’d probably be strict, just like he was at home.

 

He smiled to himself. That was fine. At least there’d be a sense of familiarity.

 

The train gave one big hoot and gave a sudden lurch forward. He realized, with a mix of excitement and trepidation, that the train was already moving.

 

He looked out of the window, looking for Sirius and Remus in the sea of parents waving their children goodbye. He stood up from his seat and laughed to himself when he saw a black dog instead, looking straight at him with its tail wagging happily, totally uncaring of Remus who had a finger up and was probably scolding him for transforming out in public.

 

Harry grinned and waved at them at the same time that the door to his compartment opened and –

 

“Harry!”

 

– someone wrapped its arms around his waist and tackled him back to the chair.

 

“Oof!”

 

The white blond hair that greeted his vision was unmistakeable.

 

He surprised himself by throwing his arms around Draco as well, laughing in relief. “Draco!”

 

Draco pulled back and grinned boyishly at him. “Malfoy Manor was boring as hell after our adventures in Severus’ house. I had to _bear_ my mother talking my ears off!”

 

Harry immediately sobered at that, peering nervously at Draco. “Uhm, did your mother say…”

 

Draco waved his worries off immediately with a motion of his hand. He scoffed and planted himself on the seat next to Harry. “My mother doesn’t know what she’s saying half of the time, so don’t worry about it,” he sighed dramatically. He turned his head towards the door. “Well, what are you waiting for? Sit down.”

 

Harry jumped as he realized for the first time that there were two more boys standing by the door. They were both big and burly, as if they could break Harry in half like a stick if he got on their bad side. But right now, they shuffled inside the compartment and took their seat across from him and Draco, nodding at him in greeting.

 

Harry nodded back nervously.

 

“That’s Crabbe and that’s Goyle,” Draco introduced offhandedly. “I’ve got two more friends coming over, so –“

 

“Oh, good, you finally found him,” a girl’s exasperated voice sounded from the door.

 

“Speak of the devil,” Draco muttered dryly.

 

Harry didn’t have time for his nerves to increase because in one fluid motion, the girl had stepped inside the compartment, shoved her face right up his, and peered into his eyes before her gaze travelled upwards to his scar. She blinked in amazement.

 

“I thought Draco was fibbing when he said that he was friends with Harry Potter,” she said in wonder.

 

She leaned back, hands on her hips, and Harry finally managed to take in her appearance. Her black hair were cropped neatly just above her shoulders and she was thin and small, just like him. Her face looked… well, Harry didn’t want to be mean, but she looked like Aunt Marge’s dog.

 

She held out a hand in front of Harry, a smirk on her face. “Pansy Parkinson.”

 

A bit dumbfounded, Harry shook it on automatic. “Err, Harry Potter.”

 

Beside him, Draco scowled. “I do not _fib_ , Pansy –“

 

“You’re a vampire, aren’t you?”

 

All of their heads turned back towards the door, where a boy with dark skin stood.

 

Suddenly, all of Harry’s insecurities came back to him and he remembered Mrs. Malfoy’s words. _Monster, creature, thing, diseased –_

 

“He is. Have you got a problem with that?”

 

Draco’s voice abruptly cut through the panic attack that was brewing in him as if dousing him with refreshing cold water.

 

The boy raised an eyebrow at the tightness in Draco’s voice and at the way Draco had moved his body just slightly as if he was protecting Harry.

 

Snorting to himself, he stepped inside the compartment, closed the door and sat down beside the blond. “Of course not. I just thought it was cool,” he said coolly.

 

He shifted in his seat and extended his hand around Draco’s body towards Harry.

 

“Blaise Zabini. My mother went out with a vampire once. Was absolutely smitten with him as he was her.”

 

He rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly, and the silliness of his reaction was what relaxed the tension in Harry’s shoulders enough for him to shake Blaise’s hand as well.

 

He smiled slightly. “Harry Potter.”

 

Pansy’s exaggerated huff got all their attention. “Go away, Blaise, I want to sit next to Draco,” she whined.

 

After Blaise had dutifully obeyed her and sat next to Goyle instead, Pansy plopped down and started her much-awaited (at least, for her) rant.

 

“As I was saying, Draco practically sent all of us all over the train looking for you.” She looked pointedly at Harry and huffed indignantly at Draco. “Can you _believe_ that? Harry Potter’s not been seen for over eleven years and then Draco here tells us to just go scurry off and find him.”

 

Harry grinned, feeling warmth bloom in his chest and across his cheeks. He could actually imagine Draco throwing a tantrum with his friends and demanding things.

 

Draco’s ears flushed red. He opened his mouth to speak but Blaise cut him off.

 

“He was probably scared that someone else might get to you first, like, I don’t know, maybe a Weasley.” Blaise sniggered, as did Crabbe and Goyle.

 

Harry’s nose scrunched up in confusion. He didn’t know what a Weasley was.

 

Draco coughed loudly. “This talk about me is interesting and all, but can we please talk about something else?”

 

Needless to say, Harry found that he needn’t have worried about Hogwarts and making new friends at all.

 

* * *

 

As Crabbe, Goyle, Draco and Parkinson were all sorted into Slytherin, Harry could feel his hands going clammy. He wanted to get into Slytherin too. What was the point of meeting all these new friends if he was just going to get sorted into another house?

 

At long last, the tall, old woman with the pointy hat shouted his name. “Potter, Harry!”

 

All conversation died in the hall. It was as if a gust of wind had blown through the whole room and shushed everyone one by one. Harry certainly felt that gust of wind. It froze him to the tips of his fingers and to his toes.

 

And then, like a lit candle, all conversation returned at once, the hall bursting with excited chatter as they wondered which of the first years was the famous Harry Potter.

 

The old woman looked straight at him though and Harry almost reached up to smooth his bangs down over his scar.

 

Stiffly, Harry began walking forward.

 

It was unnerving how all eyes were riveted to him then. At the Head table, he caught the eye of Severus, who nodded at him approvingly. It was a slight movement, but Harry had been with him long enough to notice it and he told himself to relax.

 

The hat was placed over his eyes and a voice boomed in his head.

 

 _“Ah, Harry Potter. Hmm, difficult._ Very _difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh yes. And a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?_ ”

 

Harry’s mind immediately procured an image of Draco.

_  
“Ah, Slytherin, eh? Not a bad choice. You could be great, you know. It's all here in your head. And Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, there's no doubt about that.”_

_Please_ , Harry thought.

 

He could almost see the hat smirking.

 

_“Very well then, I’ll put you in –“_

“SLYTHERIN!”

 

The grin that was about to worm up to his lips was cut short when the hat was taken away from his eyes and he saw the disturbed expressions of the crowd of unsorted first years. He didn’t even need to look around the room to know that others wore the same expressions because he could hear them, the words they said –

 

_Voldemort_

_Of course he’d be in Slytherin_

_Vampire_

_Bad blood_

_Dark Lord_

He hadn’t realized that he had actually managed the trip from the stool to the Slytherin Table until someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Don’t listen to them, Potter,” a tall and lanky student told him. Harry raised his eyes to look at him and noticed a badge with the letter P pinned to his collar. The student grinned at him, which really just made him look a bit menacing due to his uneven teeth. “They say those things about everyone who’s sorted into Slytherin, so you’re not all that different. Thinks they’re all goody-goody, y’see, and that we’re the bad nuggets.”

 

The girl standing beside him made a noise of agreement. Harry noticed the same badge on her collar. She smiled sweetly and batted her eyelashes at him.

 

“Don’t you worry your little head over it, okay?”

 

Harry flushed, both from the relief at the guy’s words and at the funny way the girl was blinking, and immediately scurried off to sit beside Draco – who greeted him with a smirk.

 

“You know, for a while there, I thought you were going to get sorted into Gryffindor,” Draco teased.

 

“Nonsense, Draco!” Pansy, who was sitting across from them, scoffed. She grinned at Harry. “Harry’s a Slytherin through and through. He might even suck all our blood by tomorrow.” She winked and Blaise beside her snickered.

 

Harry finally completely relaxed and grinned at the joke.

 

He looked back at the Head Table and saw the proud, if not a bit smug, look that Severus sent him.

 

He was going to be fine.

 

* * *

 

Surprisingly, all the hype about Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was gone after the end of the first week.  Everyone was all curious and inappropriate stares at first, but after they realized that Harry was just a plain, old, first year and wasn’t about to do cartwheels and magic tricks in front of them, they started minding their own business.

 

That didn’t mean that Harry was any less disturbed by some of the things that the other Houses said about him.

 

It didn’t pass his notice that other students thought he was actually an ally of Voldemort or the next Dark Lord or that he was a danger to them.

 

Draco did his best to comfort him or tell him otherwise, but all the low mutterings and suspicious stares that he got in the halls only fuelled his belief of Narcissa Malfoy’s words:

 

_“You should have never been friends with that boy.”_

 

* * *

 

However, their subjects, which were endlessly fascinating, did rather well in distracting him from morose thoughts. Harry managed to levitate a feather on the first try easily due to Remus’ teachings but struggled a bit with Transfiguration. Potions was a weird affair, with Harry trying to reconcile his image of Severus at home with the image of ‘Professor Snape’. On a few occasions, he almost called him _Severus_ in front of the other students. Severus never reprimanded him for those but Harry still felt guilty.

 

Their flying class was what Harry enjoyed the most, even though they were reprimanded by Madame Hooch after the first class because he and Draco got too excited and flew too far.

 

Defence was boring, even though Professor Quirrel was such an eccentric person to watch. He stuttered a lot and some of Harry’s classmates were actually betting that his turban sometimes _moved_.

 

To lessen their boredom and keep themselves awake during his class, they counted all of his quirks and their repetitions. The twitch in his eye, his stuttering, his speech blocks, even the times when his turban would ‘move’. Sometimes Harry thought that Pansy was just imagining the movement of the turban but wouldn’t say anything when she’d write a line on her parchment.

 

And that was how they landed themselves detention.

 

* * *

 

“So who wants te go with Fluffy?”

 

Pansy immediately stepped forward, right next to Hagrid, the Gamekeeper.  Her face was a pale white when she screeched out, “You are _not_ leaving me with a _dog_ as my guide in the Forbidden Forest!”

 

Blaise took one look at the way Harry and Draco’s shoulders touched and sighed. “Well, I’m with Pansy, seeing as you two aren’t capable of ever separating.”

 

His pinched expression looked a tad bit relieved, though, when he finally stood beside Hagrid.

 

“We’re going to _die_ ,” moaned Draco mournfully.

 

Harry took one look at Draco’s face that was drained of colour and it was almost natural for him to reach out and wrap a hand around Draco’s. He shrugged weakly and tried for a reassuring smile. “We’ve got Fang.”

 

Draco clutched at his hand tightly but wasn’t reassured. “A dog! There’re trolls and clawed creatures out there and we’ve got a dog!”

 

Fang yipped cheerfully beside him.

 

* * *

 

Harry had a bad feeling about this. It wasn’t that the Forest was dark and foreboding and was teeming with deadly creatures – or maybe it was that. Still, Harry felt there was something else that was niggling at the back of his mind, making him more anxious with every turn they made and every tree they passed.

 

His stomach felt heavy.

 

Even his scar was starting to hurt a bit or maybe that was just his imagination.

 

He focused all his attention on the feel of Draco’s hand in his instead.

 

* * *

 

“Draco – _what – no – oh, God –“_

_“Ha – arry –“_

_“No, no, no, no, no –“_

_“—rry –“_

_“Don’t speak, Draco, don’t speak –“_

Crying and ugly hiccoughs.

 

Harry would realize later on that it was his.

 

Shuffling and then an explosion in the sky.

 

 _“They’ll be here soon, Draco, hang on –_ please _– Draco!”_

Gurgling sounds as blood spurted from the wound on a deathly-white neck.

 

_“Keep your eyes open!”_

_“Draco!”_

_“DRACO!”_

Eyelids slowly fluttered closed.

 

Harry felt his very soul being sucked out from his body, his heart _squeezed –_

 

_“No, no, no, no, no –“_

_Time Turners cannot revive the dead without ripping the fibres of time,_ a book from long ago said.

_“You should have never been friends with that boy,”_ Narcissa Malfoy had said.

 

Harry sobbed pitifully.

 

Hands grabbed at his pocket –

 

 _“Don’t_ die –“

 

– shaking, cold fingertips touching cold metal finally, _finally_ –

 

_“I won’t let you die, I won’t –“_

Eyelids fluttered open.

 

Frantic fingers turned the Time Turner once, twice, thrice –

 

_“— rry, don’t…”_

 

And then it broke.

 

Harry felt his heart stop.

 

_“NO –“_

* * *

 

Harry Potter woke up from his dream with a start and a throbbing headache. He never could remember that part properly. It was still no less haunting though and he took a moment to clear all the blinding, red colour from behind his eyelids.

 

He never could remember that part properly, but mostly, he just remembered the blood.

 

“Wipe that snot off your face, Potter,” came a soft voice across from him.

 

Harry blinked rapidly and realized that his eyes were wet. Feeling embarrassment wash over him, he raised his head from the table, sat up properly and wiped his face on his sleeve.

 

He knew there was no snot. It was just Theodore Nott’s kind way of telling him that he had been crying.

 

“How long did I sleep?” he asked, his voice gruff from the rest.

 

Across the table, Theodore raised a reproachful eyebrow at him. “Enough that you completely wasted the time that we should have spent eating lunch in the Great Hall or, better yet, finishing our Transfiguration Essay,” he finished dryly, waving towards the parchment in front of Harry that he had been sleeping on.

 

Harry raised his sleeve up to his cheek again just in case there was smudged ink.

 

“I’m done, by the way,” Theodore said with a sigh. “I don’t know about you.”

 

He looked pointedly at the two short paragraphs on Harry’s parchment. Professor McGonagall had required three feet.

 

Harry rolled his eyes at Theodore’s sarcasm and then winced because the movement caused his head to throb again. “I’ll finish it tonight.”

 

 _“It’s starting!”_ Excited whispers came from the table that was hidden from view by a bookshelf.

 

Theodore’s lip curled up in disgust. “This is the library, for Merlin’s sake. Can’t they keep it down?”

 

_“Keep your voice down, Pans, you’re giving me a headache.”_

Harry’s heart seemed like it jumped in his chest. Four years later and it still happened every time he heard Draco’s voice.

 

“They _are_ whispering, though,” Harry commented nonchalantly.

 

“Alright, fine, then they should have put Silencing Charms around them, just like we did.”

 

 _“Come_ on _, Draco! Let’s go to the Great Hall. It’s starting!”_

Harry chuckled despite the hollow feeling that had settled in his stomach. “My, one would think you despised your own Housemates.”

 

Theodore scrunched his nose up. They’ve had this conversation countless times before. “I don’t despise them. I complain about _everyone_ , Potter. It just so happens that they’re the ones of nearest vicinity at this moment, unless you’d rather that I complain about what a horrid mess you look like right now with your swollen eyes and your red nose.” He looked at Harry pointedly.

 

Flushing, Harry waved his wand and cast soothing charms. He’d learned to be quite adept at them.

 

“Bad dream again?” Theodore asked, his voice going soft.

 

Harry smiled to himself. For all his harsh words, Theodore was a very nice friend.

 

_“Ow – don’t pull, Pansy!”_

_“You’re too slow!”_

 

There was the sound of a chair scraping the floor and footsteps leaving and Harry found that he could breathe properly again.

 

“Well, should we go, too?” Theodore was already putting his things back in his satchel.

 

Harry was confused. “Go where?”

 

Theodore rolled his eyes at him. “To the Great Hall. The Goblet of Fire’s going to be spitting out the names of the lucky contestants for the Triwizard Tournament today.”

 

“What does it matter to us? Our names aren’t in there,” Harry replied but he started to gather his things as well.

 

Theodore looked at him as if he was stupid.

 

“To feel sorry for the poor sods, of course.”

 

* * *

 

They walked out of the library just in time to see Draco Malfoy in the distance halt his steps abruptly and look back.

 

Harry yearned with all his heart that Draco would look at _him_ but he knew it was stupid.

 

Draco was looking at the library entrance.

 

“What’s wrong, Draco?” Parkinson’s high-pitched voice echoed in the empty hall.

 

“I left my inkwell,” Draco sighed irritably and started to walk towards the library – towards Harry. He called over his shoulder. “Wait for me, Pans.”

 

Theodore waved a hand in greeting as Draco neared them but didn’t pause in his conversation with Harry. “—Viktor Krum probably for Durmstrang. Any bets for Hogwarts?”

 

Draco waved back at Theodore as he passed by them.

 

Harry shrugged. “Probably Diggory.”

 

Draco didn’t even spare him a glance and Harry didn’t look back.

 

But even after four years, he could still remember how it felt when he last held Draco Malfoy’s hand.

 

**to be continued**


	2. Fourth Year: First Task

He was thrown back in time and he knew that it was before the summer that he was to meet Draco, knew it through the way the magic – remnants of his time travel – shimmered around him and told him the things he needed to know.

 _The longest period that can be travelled back in time without serious chance of harm to the traveller or time itself is five hours,_ a book from long ago whispered warningly in his head.

Harry felt the panic build up in him. He forced it down, swallowed down the urge to cry and run away.

 _Five hours!_ He probably went back five months but the Time Turner was broken and blood that wasn't his was on his hands and the image of Draco's pale, terrified face in the darkness was burned behind his eyelids and he _knew_ –

He knew he had to convince his ten-year-old self not to spend that summer in Snape Manor.

* * *

He used the working Time Turner of his ten-year-old self to go back, dreading that he might return to the Forest and Draco writhing in pain under him, but when he opened his eyes, he realized that he was just back in his room in the dungeons.

And that's when the effects of time travel really hit him.

Spending the summer in Grimmauld Place instead. Explaining to Severus that he wanted to spend the last few months before Hogwarts with Sirius and Remus, since he'd be with Severus during the whole school year anyway. Learning the corkscrew dive from Sirius. Tending to Remus on the days after the full moon. Improving his human drawings. Going to Hogsmeade. Riding the Hogwarts Express. Sharing a compartment with a boy named Ronald Weasley. Choosing Slytherin again. Meeting Draco Malfoy for the first time but avoiding his offers of friendship with projected indifference until he gave up. Not being friends with Draco Malfoy. Not being friends with Pansy Parkinson or Blaise Zabini or Crabbe or Goyle. Not counting Professor Quirrel's ticks. Not getting detention. Not going into the Forbidden Forest. _Not having Draco Malfoy die._

All of these memories, images and thoughts and feelings and emotions, overlapped with his old ones in a rush, binding together in criss-crossed seams that translated to Harry as pain, lances of pain that _tore_ through his mind and _ripped it open_ and –

"Potter!"

There were two sets of memories in his head, one Before the Time Turner, one After, both of them attacking him all at once and it was like having had two minds in one body, but that wasn't how it was supposed to be, it wasn't natural, so his body decided to rip them apart, _one of you doesn't belong here_ and Harry was crying, sobbing –

"Potter, your nose is bleeding –"

Harry was panicking. He didn't want those memories of Draco gone, he wanted to remember each and every one of them, _keep both of them please_

"POTTER!"

* * *

The Slytherin first year boys had two rooms, each with three beds. Before the Time Turner, it was Harry, Draco and Goyle who shared a room while Blaise, Theodore and Crabbe shared the other. After the Time Turner, Harry realized that he and Blaise had switched places.

So when he returned back to normal time After the Time Turner, it was Theodore Nott who was present.

He and Theodore became friends after that.

It was hard not to be.

* * *

"Viktor Krum was a sure bet," Harry Potter said three years later in a mutter to a smug Theodore.

"I was still right," Theodore muttered back.

Fleur Delacour for Beauxbatons, Viktor Krum for Durmstrang. The crowd got tighter as they waited with bated breath for the Champion of Hogwarts to be announced. Theodore elbowed a Hufflepuff that had sidestepped in front of him and blocked his view of the Cup.

She yelped and retreated, and Theodore took his rightful place with a smirk.

"A galleon for Cedric Diggory for Hogwarts," he whispered conspiratorially to Harry, getting a galleon from his pocket and holding it up with a grin.

Harry raised an eyebrow, then rolled his eyes. "Diggory was _my_ idea, you tosser. Besides, what's the point of betting if you're going to bet on the _only_ possible candidate of Hogwarts? He's the only one here who's not wussy enough to enter."

"A lot actually put their names in the Goblet," Theodore said. "Even the Weasel twins tried."

Harry remembered that one. The Weasley twins had ended up in the Infirmary with Professor McGonagall refusing to get rid of the white beards they had grown until she had thoroughly scolded their red ears off. It was both funny and impressive at the same time. "Okay," he tried again. "Diggory's the only one who's not wussy enough to enter and die in the first round."

Theodore laughed. "Oh? You have pretty high expectations of Diggory then."

"He's pretty well-rounded for a Hufflepuff. He's just horrid at Quidditch."

"He's the _captain._ "

Harry didn't miss a beat. "Like I said, he's horrid at Quidditch."

It was Theodore's turn to raise an eyebrow at him, but a grin played at his lips. He knew how good Harry was at Quidditch, although Merlin knows why he didn't want anyone else in Hogwarts to know. The sod didn't even try out for the Quidditch Team once, no matter how much Theodore begged him because everybody (even the Slytherins) knew that their Quidditch Team only kept on winning because of their cheap tricks.

Even Malfoy becoming Seeker couldn't save them. And Malfoy was already pretty good, if a bit pigheaded at times.

" _And the Hogwarts Champion is…"_ Dumbledore's voice, amplified by a Sonorus Charm, echoed around the Hall. Voices of the students grew in excitement, before settling into a hushed murmur.

The Goblet of Fire burned brightly, the tips of its flames dancing wildly in black and blue, until – a hiss and a pop – a piece of paper flew from the goblet, into the air, and into Dumbledore's waiting hand.

" _Who's your bet?_ " came Theodore's excited whisper. "Hurry up, Potter, he's gonna announce it anytime now –"

Harry rolled his eyes in amusement. It didn't matter who he picked because it was going to be Diggory anyway. "Okay, fine, that oldest Weasley."

The look that Theodore gave him was both gobsmacked and bewildered. " _Serious –?"_

The rest of his voice was drowned out by Dumbledore's _"CEDRIC DIGGORY!"_

The crowd erupted in cheer. A few boos came from the Slytherins, which was more obligatory than because of their actual dislike for the Hufflepuff.

Harry threw a galleon at Theodore's way before he had the chance to gloat.

"We're done for," came that uninterested drawl that Harry would recognize in any crowd. "10 galleons Durmstrang wins the Triwizard Tournament."

"Just 10, Draco?" Pansy smirked. "I bet 50."

"Gambling's a terrible hobby," Blaise said, waving his hand that glinted silver.

Theodore took notice of their conversation as well, and shouted over the crowd with a grin. "I'll bet you didn't think that when you got that ring of yours in a Dragon fight, Zabini!" He tugged at Harry's robe so that they could slip through the bodies of students closer to the trio.

As they got nearer, Blaise showed off his ring with a similar grin. "I just said it was terrible. Didn't say I disliked it."

"What about you, Potter?"

Harry's world zeroed in on that voice then and on that familiar smirk. The same thing happened every time Draco talked to him. Granted, it occurred more often than Harry was comfortable with, even after four years of being housemates. It always tore him inside how much he wanted to be friends with Draco again, and at the same time how afraid he was that the same thing would happen in the end.

_You should have never been friends with that boy._

"50 galleons for Hogwarts," Harry replied coolly.

Draco's smirk widened. "You think so highly of that Hufflepuff?"

"Not really." Harry actually also thought that Durmstrang was going to win the Tournament. "I'm just really, really bad at gambling."

Draco looked pleased. "Didn't think you had it in you."

Harry was good at this, good at keeping things civil enough – not too friendly but also not awkward. They lived in the same dorm, had the same classes, attended the same fancy parties that Snape forced him to go to every summer, and had the same circle of 'friends'. He convinced himself each and every time that he was satisfied with this.

Just then, another loud hiss echoed in the Great Hall. The voices dimmed down and all heads turned towards the center where the Goblet of Fire stood, its flames as high and as wild as ever. The flames should have died down by now.

Dumbledore, along with Igor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, inched closer with hands in their pockets, ready to take out their wands at a moment's notice.

"Students, stand back," Dumbledore said calmly.

The students hurriedly made a wider circle around the Goblet, until finally – another piece of paper floated into the air.

Karkaroff caught it in his hand and unfolded it. His eyes widened, and he looked at Dumbledore.

His voice was steady and firm.

"Harry Potter."

* * *

Harry had a lot of explaining to do. And nothing to actually explain. And he didn't understand why nobody could understand that.

"Are you sure you didn't put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Harry?" At least Dumbledore was being nice about it.

Madame Maxime wasn't really hiding her disapproval of him with her lips curled up in a sneer and her very calculated distance from him. Harry rolled his eyes. He was used to this, to people treating him like someone with a contagious disease. It happened fairly often during those fancy summer parties.

"For the last time, Professor," Harry grumbled out. "I _didn't_ put my name in the Goblet of Fire. Not that I could have, even if I wanted to. And I _don't_."

Severus Snape, a black figure standing in one of the corners of the room, tried to stifle the amused smirk that was threatening to crawl its way to his lips. He could already see his charge slowly giving in to his annoyance and impatience, a trait he probably acquired from Snape. That, combined with his impulsiveness and rebellion to authority that he no doubt got from the mutt and the werewolf, was actually a bit dangerous, if not amusing.

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. "The charms on the Age Line that I have put around the Goblet were still in place at the very last moment Harry's name was chosen."

"Ve can't let a little boy enter such a dangerous tournament!" Madame Maxime cried. "Especially –" At this, she caught herself and wisely shut herself up as her cheeks colored. She tried again. "It's too dangerous."

Harry wasn't fooled one bit that she was concerned for _his_ safety.

"We already have three Champions, one from each school," Karkaroff agreed. He tapped his cane impatiently on the floor. "We have no need for a fourth one. No offense intended, my boy." He added the last part as an afterthought.

"None taken," Harry muttered. He looked pleadingly at Snape.

Snape looked back at him with a grim expression. He knew what Dumbledore was going to say.

"The Goblet has chosen," Dumbledore said gravely. "And it has chosen Harry as its fourth Champion."

* * *

"Are you absolutely _sure_ –"

"I am _absolutely sure_ , Nott," Harry ground out through gritted teeth. His head was already starting to pound and it's only been an hour after he found that he was going to join this awful tournament where more than half of its contenders end up either dying or incapacitated. "We've been practically joined at the hip this past week. Trust me, if I had put my name inside that stupid cup, you would _know_." He paused, and then added, "And I'd have probably put yours in too."

Theodore made a face. "Well, it's a good thing you didn't. I'm not really interested in death defying games."

Harry gave him a flat look.

Theodore shrugged. "Not that I'm saying that you'll be defying death or having anything to do with death in general at all, Harry."

* * *

" _Well, well, well,_ if it isn't Hogwarts' Champion!" reached his ears as soon as he entered the Slytherin common room. Sniggers resounded from around the room.

"Sod it, Malfoy," Harry replied just as soon. He may miss Draco's companionship terribly but that didn't mean Draco wasn't an arse.

"Is this why you were so confident with those 50 galleons of yours, Potter?" Draco smirked.

Harry sighed heavily. Knowing Draco (and he knew him really, really well), he wasn't going to stop this anytime soon. "Do you really believe I would have put my name in that stupid cup?"

From now on, Harry was going to refer to that holy, all-mighty, well-revered Goblet of Fire as that stupid cup. _Seriously_. Spitting out a name that wasn't even in there to begin with.

"No," Draco replied easily. He was seated on one of the plush couches in front of the fireplace with the fourth years, as well as some other students from the higher years who were looking at their exchange with interest. "You never did know what to do with fame and power. You never would have thought of that brilliant scheme to get attention."

Harry was surprised at his answer. "Thanks, Malfoy. I guess."

"You're also not athletic enough or smart enough."

Harry groaned. He flipped Draco his middle finger as he stomped his way towards the dorms. "I'll wait for those 50 galleons, Malfoy."

* * *

"Are you _sure_ you didn't put your name in the Goblet of Fire, Harry?" Sirius' head asked later when it was eleven in the evening and everybody else was peacefully asleep in their beds.

Harry was about to say that _yes_ , he was sure and Merlin's balls, why did everyone keep on asking that same stupid question about the stupid cup – and then Sirius' head added, "Because it's absolutely something that James and I would have done and would have roped Moony into doing back in our day."

That had Harry smiling in spite of himself. Always trust Sirius to cheer him up. "Yes, I'm sure, Sirius."

Sirius actually looked disappointed.

Harry snorted to himself. That was a first for the day.

Sirius' head got knocked to the side and replaced by Remus' head in the fireplace. "Have you talked to Severus about this, Harry? It's awfully mysterious."

Harry shook his head. "He's been busy talking with Professor Dumbledore. I've got Potions first thing tomorrow, so I'll talk to him then."

Remus nodded grimly. "Don't charge into anything without talking to us and Severus about it first, okay? There's a lot of people out there who…" He trailed off, lips pressing together tightly.

Harry smiled sadly to himself. He was aware that Remus knew, out of anyone else, what 'a lot of people out there' were capable of when faced with something they couldn't comprehend. In this case, a werewolf or a… vampire.

"I know, Remus," he murmured.

That thing about the Philosopher's Stone in his first year had been mental. Dumbledore and Severus had disposed of the Stone easily before Quirrel could get his hands on it, but there were still some people who believed that Harry was the one who let Voldemort inside the castle. (Who would have thought that the reason why Quirrel's turban moved a lot was because Voldemort kept on scrunching his nose up? Ha ha ha.) And the whole Chamber of Secrets thing! Up until now, Harry still had trouble convincing some of the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs that he was _not_ the Heir of Slytherin and that he did _not_ keep a pet basilisk in his dorm. Severus had a hard time not spitting venom every time the subject came up in Snape Manor, sometimes giving full-fledged rants about why teenaged witches should be educated about writing on magical notebooks that wrote back.

Despite the whole ordeal ending with everyone safe and sound, others still believed that it was he who had given Ginny Weasley Riddle's diary. As a result, Harry had grown used to Howlers greeting him good morning every day at breakfast – so much so that Dumbledore had arranged for all Howlers addressed to Mr. Harry Potter be sent to Snape Manor instead, where they were promptly taken care of by Gritty the House Elf.

_Dark Lord worshipper_

_Death Eater_

_Vampire scum_

Those were some of the nicer things that strangers have called him.

It didn't really escape his notice that someone may have put his name in the Goblet of Fire in an attempt to get rid of him for good.

Sitting in front the fireplace, alone in the common room with his blanket and the quiet to envelop him, the gravity of his situation slowly but surely started to sink in.

"When's the First Task?" Sirius asked.

Harry snapped out of his stupor. He inhaled deeply to slow down the beating of his heart. "In three weeks."

"Got it." Sirius sent him a wink. "Give us three days. Same time, same fireplace, kiddo."

Harry looked at him in amusement. "What're you going to do?"

"Leave everything to us. Never let it be known that the Marauders did everything with justice and fairness – _oof, Moony!"_

Sirius' head was shoved aside. Remus smiled apologetically at him. "I'll take care of him, Harry. You go enjoy the Triwizard Tournament. It's a chance that not everyone gets to have. Write to us all about it, alright? Talk to you in three days."

And the green fire went out, to be promptly replaced by normal fire with its orange heat and flames – which did nothing to warm the cold that started to seep in Harry's chest.

* * *

Harry climbed up towards his dorm room soon after, wishing he could talk to Severus to calm himself down. Or maybe sleep in the same room. Just like when he was younger, whenever he would have nightmares about going back to the Dursleys. But he was older now, and he knew that the man would never allow a student to sleep in his quarters, not even if that student was his charge.

"Alright there, Harry?" Theodore's voice rose from the darkness of the dorm room.

Harry stopped his journey towards his bed and shifted his gaze towards where he knew Theodore's was. He squinted his eyes to see the other boy better through the dark.

"Alright. Just had a talk with my godfather."

He never did get around to having _The_ _Talk_ with Theodore, the one where he admitted that his godfather was suspected murderer and Death Eater Sirius Black, who lived with werewolf Remus Lupin. Theodore may be his best friend, but it was still a lot to risk.

"You know what I mean."

Harry smiled to himself. Theodore could be such a sap sometimes, even if he would never admit it.

"I'll be alright if you change your bets to Hogwarts."

A snort came from Theodore's bed, and then the sound of ruffling sheets as he lay back on his bed. "I'll think about it depending on your performance in the First Task, Potter. Now go to sleep."

Harry grinned.

* * *

"Who _thinks_ of these stuff?" Theodore asked the next day with a cackle, as he held up a _Potter Stinks_ badge.

Harry pointedly ignored him and focused on murdering his poached eggs with his fork.

"Probably the Weasel twins," Blaise helpfully supplied from beside Theodore.

"I'm almost sad I didn't think of this sooner," Draco commented musingly as he held up his own Potter Stinks badge and perused it.

Harry glared at him.

Draco put both of his hands up in defence. "It's a genius money-making scheme!"

Harry groaned. He should have known better than to look for sympathy in a house of snakes.

* * *

"It may not be all that bad, Harry," Theodore offered half an hour later as they were walking towards the dungeons for their Potions class. "Nobody's died for the past 200 years."

Harry wasn't sure if Theodore was trying to comfort him. "That's because there hasn't been a Triwizard Tournament for the past 200 years after the champions kept on dying!"

Theodore went on as if he hadn't heard him. "And Professor Dumbledore or Professor Snape's not going to let anything happen to you."

That was true. Harry wasn't really concerned about the danger of the Tournament on its own. He knew that the professors from all three schools have carefully put safety precautions in place for everyone. What he was more concerned about was who could have put his name in the Goblet of Fire and for what reason.

"Besides," Theodore continued. "If you die, you get to haunt Hogwarts forever like the Bloody Baron! Doesn't that sound like a lot of –"

He ducked just in time to avoid a book aimed for his head.

* * *

"Albus has placed extra wards and Protection Charms around the castle and challenge sites," Snape had said after their Potions class, when it was only him, Harry, and Theodore in the classroom. "We've also tasked the House Ghosts and some of the House Elves to keep an eye out for all the foreign students and staff."

He paused, before his lip curled into a sneer as he thought of a particular professor with a mad eye. "And even our own staff."

Harry's shoulders slumped dejectedly. He voiced out what he had been so vehemently hoping against since last night. "So there's really no backing out from this Tournament?"

Snape regarded him carefully, down his long, crooked nose. "The Goblet of Fire is an ancient magic made especially for the Triwizard Tournament. The Tournament itself is a ritual of sorts – its rules bound by the same ancient Charms. The Goblet ensures the following of those rules, all for the success of the Tournament. To remove you, after the Goblet has chosen you, would nullify all the magic surrounding it. It would stop the ritual. You yourself are now bound by a magical contract to see the Tournament through."

Harry bit his lower lip to stop himself from voicing out any more complaints or whines. It was unbecoming of a Slytherin, especially of Severus Snape's charge. He squared his shoulders. He exhaled loudly. "Alright."

There, Snape's expression softened – just a miniscule, tiny bit. "I myself will do daily rounds for security."

Harry's face slowly coloured. He was touched that Snape would go out of his way to do this for him, as well as ashamed at how childish he was acting. He never did outgrow his fear of being a bother to other people, even Snape, Remus, and Sirius had all done their bests – in their own little ways – to convince him that he was anything but.

"Thank you, Severus," he murmured earnestly, pretty sure even his ears were red now. "I'll do my best."

Snape nodded at him curtly. "Undoubtedly."

Harry felt warmth bloom in his chest.

* * *

"You know," Theodore started when they left the Potions classroom and were ascending the stairs for Defence against the Dark Arts with the new, creepy professor. Slytherins liked anything creepy, if they were going to be honest, but how Mad Eye Moody had enjoyed casting the Unforgivables on that spider the other day was just downright unsettling.

Theodore continued. "I never did get why the Gryffindors piss themselves silly because of Professor Snape. He's practically overflowing with cavity-inducing sweetness," he said in the most serious voice and most serious face he could muster.

Harry grinned at him. "I'll tell him you said that. Good luck on your one month detention in the Forbidden Forest, Nott."

Theodore paled.

* * *

"Dragons!" Sirius' head exclaimed excitedly from the fireplace three days later. "The First Task includes dragons!" His head was practically jumping up and down, oblivious to all the colour slowly draining from Harry's face. Then again, it probably would have been hard to notice since Floo calls usually coloured your face green.

"Why are you so happy about it, Sirius?" Harry croaked out weakly.

"Haven't you ever heard of the ancient tales of Merlin? Fighting dragons with a mighty sword! I'm almost jealous of you, squirt!"

Harry shrugged and waved a hand. "By all means, you're welcome to take my place."

A half of Remus' face appeared alongside Sirius'. "They're really quite majestic creatures, Harry. It's amazing to see them up close!"

"Sure," Harry agreed. "When they don't want to kill you."

"Nonsense, Harry!" Sirius exclaimed. "You fly better than any ancient magical creature in history!"

Harry found himself chuckling despite the news. It was hard to be so pessimistic with Sirius and Remus around. "How did you know about it anyway?"

Sirius waved offhandedly. "Moony and I were actually really popular in our day," he said, thinking it might be unwise to drop Arthur Weasley and Charlie Weasley's names in the conversation after they had kindly helped them help Harry cheat. Friendship was a beautiful thing.

Harry raised an eyebrow in confusion. "You didn't answer the ques –"

"Ah, look at the time!" Sirius exclaimed. "We must really go, Harry! Places to see, people to meet."

Harry rolled his eyes in amusement. He wisely did not give notice to the fact that it was eleven in the evening and that they were wanted fugitives who have been hiding from society for the past decade.

Even Remus was laughing alongside Sirius, waving cheerfully at Harry.

"Remember what I told you about beating dragons!" Sirius yelled.

Harry blinked. "But you didn't tell me any –"

The green fire went out with a pop.

Harry sat back in confusion. What did Sirius mean?

And then –

It dawned on him at the same time that the fireplace roared back to life, red and yellow and warm.

* * *

On the day of the First Task, Harry was sitting in the middle of his dorm room, alone, and currently at war with himself.

He wasn't comfortable with this idea, not at all. It had been a long time since he had flown in front of anybody else that wasn't Sirius, Remus, or Theodore. It wasn't that he wanted to keep his flying a secret. It was just that he treasured it as something that he and Draco had once enjoyed together Before the Time Turner. It was a childish thought, if Harry was going to be honest with himself. It's not like Draco knew. And it's not like that their time spent flying together actually happened now, After the Time Turner. He himself had made sure to erase all of those events in the strip of history.

But he still had the memories. He _knew_ that they had happened, once upon a time. Whenever that time was now. He could still remember how fun it was to race with someone as skilled as Draco and how they would sneak out even after dinner to go for rounds around the Manor or around Hogwarts.

Maybe this was a sign from Merlin that he should finally let go of those childish thoughts.

Harry took a deep breath.

He opened his trunk and got out his Nimbus 2001, a gift that Sirius had given him for his birthday that year.

"Come on, boy. Let's go for a ride."

* * *

He stepped into the Slytherin Common Room, not at all surprised that it was devoid of students. They were probably outside now, clamouring to get good seats in the arena. The only ones left who were waiting for him were his fellow fourth years.

Theodore whistled lowly as Harry walked into view. "Now that's a rare sight to see," he grinned.

Harry was wearing royal green robes, its sleeves and openings lined with silver. Each of his hand was covered by thick, brown gloves, and one of them held the Nimbus 2001. A team of Beauxbaton sixth years had been in charge of their uniforms, and they weaved each one especially for each Champion. For Harry's part, he looked like he was part of the Slytherin Quidditch Team.

Harry tried to ignore the heat in his cheeks. "Sod off, Nott."

"Now we just need to tame that awful bedhead of yours, Harry," Pansy smiled sweetly, wand dangling from her hand.

"Thanks, Pansy, but that's alright," Harry quickly said.

"We can gel it back, just like Draco's here. What do you think, Draco?" Pansy grinned, looking towards the blond.

Harry was almost afraid to look. He was aware, ever since he first stepped into the room, of how intensely Draco Malfoy had been staring at him. With a tug on his courage, he willed himself to meet those eyes. It was like Time stopped. Harry felt an unfamiliar tug on his chest. It was like they were back Before the Time Turner, and this was Draco before Harry had taken to avoiding engaging in anything too friendly with him, and there was this sickening sense of déjà vu, and –

Draco's voice cut through the moment. "Do you even know how to use that, Potter?"

Harry started, snapped out of his stupor. He blinked at Draco, and smiled sheepishly. "Not really."

"Huh," Draco said. He blinked as well, confused at himself. It was only momentary, however, as he composed himself quickly and schooled his features into a smirk. "60 galleons for Durmstrang then."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'll wait for those 60 galleons then, Malfoy."

* * *

Pansy never got to _tame his bedhead_ , as she had said. His hair had had enough gel to suffer during those Pureblood fancy Christmas parties, and he didn't know how Draco could stand the sticky stuff. Then again, Draco _had_ started wearing his hair down ever since fourth year started…

Harry refused to think why he liked that piece of information so much.

* * *

Harry requested Theodore to hold the Nimbus for him, since he wasn't really sure if he'd be allowed to bring it into the arena. Dumbledore was in the stands, along with the other headmasters, to formally announce the start of the Triwizard Tournament. Barty Crouch, Sr., Head of the Ministry of Magic's Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, were in the tent that the Champions were to stay in before the actual Task, to facilitate the order when each of them would go inside the arena.

Viktor Krum was all his posters and slogans said he was – dark, serious, and buff. He stood in one corner in all his muscles and facial hair, not talking to anyone, which Harry saw was just his personality rather than any actual hostility towards the other Champions. Cedric Diggory – to Harry's disappointment – really was a bit of a wuss. He kept fidgeting in his seat whenever Harry neared, and it looked like he was torn between talking to Harry because they were both the Champions for Hogwarts or not because Harry was a Slytherin and a vampire at that.

Needless to say, it annoyed Harry as much as it amused him.

Fleur Delacour was the one overflowing with cavity-inducing sweetness. She had taken it upon herself to croon over him, saying how it must be hard on him to take part in such a dangerous tournament at his age and at how terribly unfair everyone was being, treating him like a monster. "They've made up all zorts of stories about vampires and Veelas, it's terrible! Vhy, my Auntie Fres was a Veela who married a vampire, and their romance is one of the zweetest I have ever known! Vampires are very loyal, you know, if not a wee bit uptight." She flashed him a sweet smile.

Harry almost squinted against how bright she was glowing. People like her still do exist in this wizarding world. He wished Fleur wouldn't get herself badly hurt out there.

"Alright, alright, come over, you little wormballs," Mad Eye Moody gruffed out, shuffling into the middle of the room with a small black bag at hand. "Get one."

Cedric motioned for Fleur to go first, and Fleur smiled at him winningly.

Harry couldn't really blame the blush that suddenly covered Cedric's cheeks and ears. Even his own heart had skipped a beat. He blinked to himself to stay focused. Veela powers really were amazing.

Fleur slipped a hand into the bag, and she let out a small sound of surprise. When she took out her hand, a small green dragon had curled its tail around her thumb. Around the dragon's neck hung a small necklace with a wooden peg, where the number 2 was written.

All of the Champions' eyes widened at the sight. Even Harry. While he had been prepared to act shocked as if he didn't know that the First Task included dragons, it turned out he didn't need to. It was still his first time seeing a dragon up close, even something that small, and it was… _cool_.

Once the amazement of seeing a dragon wore off, the gravity of the situation seemed to fall on the others. They all seemed a little paler, even Viktor.

Afterwards, when all of them had gotten their own dragons, Harry almost felt jealous of them. At least they would only have to deal with the fear for a few hours. He had known for _days_ now and had bitten his nails off worrying about being burnt to a crispy fried Harry.

Also, as he looked at the red dragon on his gloved palm, _of course_ he would end up going last. More time to worry and bite his already bitten nails.

Merlin's balls.

He gave the dragon back to Professor Moody and took a deep breath.

Dumbledore's voice rang from outside the tent.

"Our first contender is… Champion of Hogwarts, _CEDRIC DIGGORY!_ "

* * *

The wait was horrible.

When Dumbledore finally, _finally_ called his name, he found out that realizing that he didn't have time to wait anymore was also as horrible as the waiting itself.

But walking out of the tent and into the arena was even _more_ horrible.

The first thing the dragon tried to do to him was turn him into a crispy fried Harry.

As soon as he had stepped out of the Tent into the arena, he barely had time to jump behind a boulder before a burst of flames was sent his way. He was mentally screaming. _Seriously_ , he wasn't so sure anymore that Dumbledore or Snape would be able to save him in time before he got third degree burns.

A screeching roar echoed throughout the arena, making Harry clamp his hands on his ears and grit his teeth.

The earth beneath him started rocking and Harry chanced a look above the boulder at the dragon. She was pacing, each step sending everyone in the stands bouncing in their seats.

Harry tried not to focus at all the students – from Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons – looking down at him. It was pretty easy, considering that he had a 15-foot tall red dragon with talons bigger than hippogriffs giving him the stinky eye. Her golden eyes narrowed into slits as she looked at him over the boulder. Behind her, between her legs, sat little dragon eggs – one of which was gold.

 _There you are_ , Harry thought cheerily. _The egg that I'm about to die for_.

The dragon grumbled lowly, and smoke started coming out of her nostrils. Harry realized, with a growing dread, that she was getting ready to blow another stream of fire. Harry ducked down and kept himself firmly stuck to the boulder as flames erupted all around it.

It was _scorching_. Being so near to the dragon's fire was excruciating, Harry almost whimpered at the pain of the heat on his skin. When the flames died down, Harry's eyes were painfully dry and his throat was parched. He closed his eyes tight to lessen the pain and forcefully swallowed. Then, he took out his wand and yelled, " _Accio Nimbus 2001!"_

Cheers erupted from the crowd as the broom flew its way to Harry's waiting hand. A few boos cut through the air, and Harry was dizzy enough that he wasn't sure if they came from other schools or from the other houses of Hogwarts. They were easily drowned out by the cheers, however, as Harry flipped a leg over the Nimbus and kicked towards the sky.

Harry opened his eyes and couldn't stop the grin forming on his face. He _loved_ flying. It sometimes made him fidgety that he couldn't – wouldn't allow himself to – fly while he was in Hogwarts. High up in the air, ten feet above the dragon, he took a deep, calming breath. The crisp, fresh air of the mountains surrounding Hogwarts felt like healing balm on his sore throat.

Beneath him, the dragon let out a furious roar. Her wings flapped and some of the students ducked in cover at the sudden burst of wind. She flew to the sky, only to be pulled back down by the chain around her leg. Harry could hear his blood rushing loudly in his ears as he watched the dragon fight against the shackles. Another screech of rage, another flap of the wings, and the chain broke free from the earth it was embedded in.

 _Well, shit_.

Screams erupted from down below.

Harry flew for his life.

He _definitely_ shouldn't have counted on Dumbledore or Snape being able to save his life before it was too late.

He accelerated into the air, towards the castle, ignoring the screeching cries of rage from behind him. The dragon was fast, Harry realized with his heart thumping in his chest. Fast for a 15-foot and some thousand pounds dragon.

 _But_ , Harry thought with an exhilarated deep inhale. Despite his nerves, he found his lips curling up into a wide grin. _He was faster_.

He went for a corkscrew dive, spiralling down towards the Hogwarts Lake, unsurprised when the dragon easily followed his direction. At the very moment before he could have hit the surface, he gave his broom a tug and flew back up again in one sharp, swift motion towards the castle.

The dragon fell to the Lake in a roar and Harry couldn't escape from the rain that her splash made. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing his wet bangs away from his face. He knew the dragon would be back though – and back she came, blowing angry streams of fire from her nostrils as she emerged from the dark waters of the Lake, dripping with water that quickly turned into steam.

Harry made the mistake of looking back, and saw, through the fire, smoke and the steam surrounding the gigantic body of the dragon, the slitted golden eyes that were intently locked on to him. A shiver ran down his body and he willed his broom faster. He needed to get that golden egg.

The castle's many bridges and spires were in view now, and Harry had a brief moment to wonder if he'd get in trouble if the dragon destroyed them, but it was gone soon enough as he thought the least they could do was not give him detention after shoving him towards a murderous, fire-breathing dragon and telling him to go steal her egg.

His broom followed the movements of his body easily enough. A slight lean forward and the broom accelerated. Harry leaned downwards and the broom swept in the same direction, before Harry leaned and they passed below a bridge, through a narrow arch of stone with Harry spinning full circle on his broom.

A heartbeat later and –

The dragon crashed into the bridge with a deafening howl. Harry quickly rounded the castle, weaving through towers and courtyards to find the shortest way back to the arena.

As the arena came into view, he was embarrassed to see that they had erected a wide projection in the air of him and the dragon so that the audience could see the events of the tournament unfold, even if they occurred outside the arena. Harry tried to keep the flush on his face down. Maybe he could pass it off as windburn and not as currently dying from embarrassment please kill me now.

Harry made his way towards the cluster of eggs in the middle of the arena, one arm outstretched –

In one graceful swoop, he grabbed the golden egg from the cluster and flew back towards the sky.

The crowd erupted in cheer and hoots.

His chest heaved from the exertion of being in the air and at the thrill of flying, as well as the thrill of fearing for his life. He could almost drown out the deafening cheers of the students as he gazed at the egg in his hand.

 _I can't believe I did that_ , he thought, even as he raised the egg in the air with a huge grin on his face.

* * *

He and Viktor Krum tied for first place.

 _And_ he didn't get detention for ruining the castle or endangering a mystical creature.

Huh.

* * *

Apparently, being a vampiric Slytherin wasn't _that_ much of a deterrent to stop people from enjoying his aerial battle to the death with a fire-breathing dragon. Some had actually stopped in the hallway to greet him or give him high-fives. The former Harry responded to with confused nods of greeting and the last he responded to with dumb stares, until the students would laugh, forcibly take his arm, and raise it up for a high-five.

He had no idea who these students were. Even the ones from Hogwarts!

Theodore just smirked smugly at the side every time. "If we'd have known that it would only take defeating a dragon to get these idiots to suck up to you, I'd have arranged for it a long time ago."

"Don't," Harry groaned. "And no sucking up. I feel violated somehow."

"Aw, Harry, don't you enjoy all the attention?"

"I've had enough of attention for the past few years, thank you very much." Harry then had this funnily ironic thought: _To make up for all the attention I_ didn't _get with the Dursleys, I guess._

They made their way towards the Slytherin Common Room, with Harry itching to get out of his uniform and figure out what the hell was supposed to do with the golden egg in the pocket of his robes. But peace and quiet, Harry thought with a mental whimper as he got sight of the Common Room, was too much to ask for.

They were actually holding a _party_.

With green and silver balloons and garlands and spiked punches! (Harry knew it was spiked because punches in the Slytherin Common Rooms were always spiked.) There was even a garish banner in the middle of the room that said _CONGRATULATIONS, HARRY!_ Harry actually had the urge to recoil from the room, especially when the Slytherins finally saw him and erupted in joyful yells and whistles.

"Good on you, Harry!"

"Well done, Harry!"

"Show those Hufflepuffs who stinks!"

 _Naturally_ , Draco Malfoy had to steal the show. He emerged from the crowd, stomping towards Harry with a purpose. He pointed a finger at Harry's chest and glared. " _Not really_ , my arse, Potter! That was a Corkscrew Dive! _And_ a Pinwheel Pass! _And_ a Whiplash Dive!"

Harry backed up a bit, nervous at all the attention he was getting. He thought back to his flying and remembered with a dawning dread that _yes_ , he did perform those manoeuvres. But he didn't think about it then, he just did what came naturally to him! He didn't think it would be a big deal; they really weren't that difficult. And besides, why was Draco angry anyway, what's it to him –

"You better be grateful Dumbledore cancelled the Quidditch Cup this year!" Draco scowled, still glaring at him with a finger tapping at Harry's chest. "I'll be captain next year, and you're joining the team, got it?"

Harry, still dumbfounded at everything that happened and _why_ was Draco so worked up about it anyway, shrugged and said a stupid, "Uh, okay."

Draco pulled back with a satisfied smile. "Okay, good. By the way, good job not getting toasted, Potter. You should have seen the look of devastation on Zacharias Smith's face." And then he was off, disappearing back in the crowd to sit back with Pansy and Blaise. Harry told himself that he had no business feeling funny at the way Pansy threw her arms around Draco's waist and leaned her head on his shoulder.

Beside him, Theodore was practically livid. "What! I've spent the past four years trying to convince you to join the Quidditch Team and it takes Draco only four seconds?! You and I are going to have a long talk about this, Potter –"

But it was all droned out as the other Slytherins pulled him further inside the room with the intent of involving him in the party.

Harry figured, with a long-suffering sigh of mortification, that this was going to be a long and tiring night.

**to be continued**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My internship is done, so now I can focus on this ;; I am so sorry for the very late update, as I had to keep on putting it off because of life huhu crey. But I should have more time to write now, so I hope you're still with me in this! :D


	3. Fourth Year: Second Task

Theodore wasn't really mad. When they returned back to their dorms at the godawful hour of midnight, he lasted twenty minutes of not talking to Harry, before curiosity got the best of him and he asked, "So, what's inside the egg?"

Harry grinned to himself. He knew Theodore wouldn't last long.

"I'm not sure, I haven't tried yet." He was whispering, so as to not wake Crabbe peacefully snoring in his bed. He walked towards the dresser, located his uniform, and took out the egg from its pocket. He gave it to Theodore before snuggling back in his bed.

"Well, how does it work?"

Harry shrugged, then remembered that Theodore probably wouldn't have seen him through the dark. "Beats me."

"What's this latch –"

A horrible, piercing wail sounded through the air.

Harry covered his ears with his hand, face cringing in pain. Crabbe suddenly jumped out of his bed and dropped onto the floor with a panicked shout.

Theodore quickly closed the latch on top of the egg.

The night was quiet once more.

Theodore coughed. When he spoke, his voice was shaky. "Huh, well. Guess I shouldn't be going around opening up golden dragon eggs, huh."

* * *

The next day, Harry found himself having a surprisingly great time. It was almost too good to be true, to have people greeting him in the hallways and sometimes even asking him for tips how to fly. He'd never experienced this during his stay in Hogwarts. He  _was_ popular, but not for the good reasons. He was also used to people talking behind his back whenever he passed by, but that was usually talk about how it was only a matter of time before he turned Dark or how scary it was to be studying in the same school as a vampire or  _That must be the reason why Professor Dumbledore had Professor Snape keep an eye on him_.

He definitely wasn't used to Beauxbaton girls giggling whenever he walked by or receiving congratulatory cards from Ravenclaws. That was just… weird. But it was… nice. It was nice not to deal with the unwelcome atmosphere that most of the Wizarding world had for vampires. He'd been in Hogwarts for four years and he'd never put a toe out of line, but the signs of fear never really went away – students hurrying away whenever he would turn the corner, hushed murmurs and stares in the Great Hall whenever news about Death Eaters made their way in the Daily Prophet...

So this, people asking for high fives, congratulating him, giving him compliments, it was all so…  _bizarre_.

Even his shame at having flown in front of so many people after so many years of telling himself that he wouldn't – for the Draco Before the Time Turner – was starting to disappear. After all, Draco After the Time Turner didn't seem to hate him for it.

"You look happy today," Theodore commented during lunch.

Harry released a shaky breath and gave a small smile. "Yeah."

It was frightening.

* * *

Harry knew that he wasn't going to get any answers from Severus. The man, despite being a Slytherin, was still a very strict professor and never once showed any favouritism towards Harry in all his years as his student. Snape wouldn't give him anything that would give him an unfair advantage in the Tournament.

Sirius and Remus, however, were different stories. They were Marauders and Marauders were, well…  _marauders_.

He covered himself and the fireplace with a Silencing Charm and let loose the infernal screams of agony from the egg. When he finally closed it, he found Remus' green head in the fireplace smiling widely and Harry knew at once that Remus had figured out the answer.

"What magical creature is terribly beautiful and loves to sing, Harry?" Remus' green head asked.

Harry's nose scrunched up in confusion. "Is that a Jigsnargle because once you get those critters to sing Cristina Warbeck, they're not gonna stop."

Sirius gave him a dry look. "Jigsnargles are worms with twenty hairy legs and a voice box. What's beautiful about them?"

"Well, you said  _terribly_ , and they look pretty terrible."

"No, Harry," Remus said with the patience only Remus could have. "They're not Jigsnargles."

"Here's another clue," Sirius announced loudly. "They're  _half-fish_."

Remus gave him a look of betrayal. "Sirius!"

"His head's as thick as James'!"

"His  _hair's_ as thick as James'. His head, I would like to believe, he got from Lily."

"We'd  _all_ like to believe that, but Jigsnargles? Really?"

Harry found himself grinning despite the insults to his intelligence (and his father's). "Thanks, guys. I think I can take it from here."

* * *

Snape may not be fond of showering Harry acts of favouritism during the school year, but that didn't mean Harry still didn't get any perks.

Harry rushed to the Potions classroom after dinner the next day. "Professor, can I borrow your bath tonight?"

Snape, who had probably been expecting him, didn't even pause in his work of checking papers and marking them all with Dreadfuls. "I'll give you until 8 o'clock sharp, Potter."

Harry grinned.

* * *

" _Come seek us where our voices sound,  
_ _We cannot sing above the ground,  
_ _And while you're searching, ponder this;  
_ _We've taken what you'll sorely miss,  
_ _An hour long you'll have to look,  
_ _And recover what we took,  
_ _But past an hour – the prospect's black;  
_ _oo late, it's gone, it won't come back."_

Harry recited in the middle of the common room as the fourth years huddled together in front of the fireplace.

"Did you memorize that?" Theodore blinked at him in awe.

Harry shrugged. "I spent an hour in the baths for it."

"Good," Draco commented, showing off the Potter Stinks badge on his robes proudly. "Maybe we can give the makers of these a run for their money by making Potter Bathes badges."

Harry glared at him. And not at the way Pansy had her arm hooked around Draco's. They had started to get physically close ever since fourth year started, and Harry knew that everyone had noticed but was just politely letting it run its course. Even Blaise sometimes had started to hang out Theodore and him more frequently nowadays.

"What's the first line again?" Blaise asked, elbow propped on his thigh, and his chin on his open palm. He tapped a finger on his cheek thoughtfully.

" _Come seek us where our voices sound_ ," Harry replied.

"These are mermaids, you say?"

Harry nodded.

Blaise snorted. "That's easy." He pointed towards the window, which looked out into a vast darkness that was disturbed only by the occasional guppy and the occasional grindylow. The dungeons, along with the Slytherin Common Room and the Potions Classroom, were all submerged underneath the Black Lake and had sea creatures as neighbours.

"They tap on those windows once in a while, usually on Sundays," Blaise continued. "It's a good thing there are Charms all over the dungeons to keep their voices out. They're deadly."

"Thanks," Harry said, face deadpan. "That's comforting."

Blaise smirked at him. "Sorry, Potter."

"So the Second Task is under the Lake?" Pansy asked, pursing her lips. "And they've taken something from you."

"And you have an hour," Theodore said thoughtfully. "You need to stay underwater for an hour to look for it. How long can you hold your breath?"

Harry shrugged. "A minute?"

Draco let out a longsuffering sigh. "Gillyweed, you idiots."

"Whatweed?" Harry blinked.

" _Gillyweed_ ," Draco let out with a roll of his eyes. "Do you even  _listen_ in Potions?"

 _Ah_. Draco and his love for plants never disappoints. Harry ignored the twinge in his chest as he remembered the days in the garden of Snape Manor whenever Draco would talk his ear off naming each of the flowers. He even named each of the ferns! And shrubs! Ferns and shrubs all looked the same to Harry; they were all green.

Harry waved away those stubborn memories and ignored the twinge in his chest. They really did like to pop up at the most inappropriate times.

Draco continued on obliviously. "You can also use a Bubblehead Charm, but that's less efficient. Gillyweed will let you breathe underwater for an hour, swim like a fish, and even enhance your vision so you'll be able to navigate the Lake faster."

Harry found himself beaming with excitement. "You're brilliant, Draco!"

Draco blinked, taken aback with the earnest compliment. His cheeks flushed and he turned his head to the side. "Of course I am, Potter, have you learned nothing about me for the past four years?"

* * *

When the Yule Ball was announced, Harry had already expected Draco and Pansy to go together. Which was fine. Totally fine. Nothing wrong with that  _at all._ But he had another problem at hand:  _He_ needed a partner.

If he weren't one of the champions, it would have been fine to go on his own, but as it was, the champions were to lead the dance and Harry didn't actually fancy dancing on his own with the whole school watching. And, well… there weren't actually many girls lining up to dance with Harry Potter, vampire, Slytherin, and potential Dark wizard.

So it was to his surprise when one night in the Common Room where he and Theodore were playing chess, Pansy approached him and suddenly announced in a loud voice, "Well, if you absolutely  _insist_ , Harry, then I suppose I must accompany you to the Yule Ball as your partner."

"Uhm," Harry intelligently said. He looked at Theodore, who shrugged and went back to looking at the chessboard to strategize his next move, as if telling him  _you're on your own, mate._  So much for Slytherin loyalty. "You don't have to if you don't want to, Pansy –"

Pansy interrupted him as loudly as before. "It would be an  _honor_ , Harry, I'm  _flattered_ that you would ask  _me_  to go with you!"

And then, she sat down beside him on the couch, leaned on him, and muttered in a low voice, "I've seen the way Greengrass has been eyeing you and I will not stand for you to take her to the Ball instead of me. That would be disgraceful."

Harry thought about telling her that Greengrass has not been in any way or form eyeing him, but Theodore idly commented, "Astoria's been really invested in you since the First Task."

Harry looked at him dubiously. "How come I've never noticed?"

"You're a thick pillock."

Harry glared.

"In any case," Pansy interrupted once more. "See you at the Yule Ball, Harry," she crooned in her sweetest voice and winked at him.

Harry grappled for any form of sense in this conversation. "But you like Draco, don't you?"

Pansy didn't seem flustered at having her crush mentioned in the open, and merely waved her hand as if it was general information. "But to pass on the chance of going to the Yule Ball with Harry Potter – Savior of the Wizarding World, The Boy Who Lived, Champion of Hogwarts, First Placer in the First Task of the very dangerous Triwizard Tournament?" She smiled, her lip gloss shining in the firelight. "You'll be the first to dance, Harry, and for that, you'll need a partner. And besides, Draco understands. We're pureblood Slytherins. Fame and image and all that lovely rot."

Ah, now it all clicked in Harry's head.  _That_ made sense. "Uhm, alright."

Pansy beamed. "Lovely! See you, Harry!" And then she was off, sauntering back to where Draco and Blaise were playing Exploding Snap.

In front of him, Theodore said smugly, "Checkmate, Potter."

It took a long time for Harry's brain to catch up with everything that had just happened.

* * *

Two weeks before the Yule Ball, Harry found a box on his bed. In it were dress robes, black with dark green lining. The fabric was soft to the touch, yet maintained its shape, especially around the shoulders and the waist. There were also black shoes made of smooth dragonhide, and a brooch – a magically charmed white lily.

Harry smiled to himself.

That night, he owled a thank you letter to Snape.

* * *

Draco Malfoy looked amazing.

Harry was disturbed at that. Draco Malfoy had always looked prim and proper, and Harry was no stranger to seeing him in fancy clothes since they always attended the same parties, but what right did Draco have to look so stunning in an all-white ensemble and his white-blonde hair gelled back?

"So, Harry," Pansy started conversationally as they danced, her arms around his neck and his around her waist. "What are the chances that Draco won't hex me if I snog him?"

Harry choked on his own saliva, which was better than spluttering, because etiquette said that one does not splutter when dancing with a lady whose face is just a few inches away from yours. He didn't want to think about Draco and snogging. "Pansy!"

Pansy blinked at him innocently with her fake eyelashes. "Oh, come on, Harry, don't tell me you've never thought about snogging before!"

Well,  _now_ he was thinking about it. Draco and snogging. Ridiculous. "I've never had reason to!"

Pansy peered at him suspiciously. "You've never fancied anyone before?"

"There's not a lot of romantic prospects for me, no matter what side we take. Do you want to talk about the vampire side or the potential Dark Lord follower side?"

Pansy rolled his eyes. "Hush now, Harry, don't you worry your pretty little head over it. Some girls love dark and broody boys."

Harry was mildly affronted. "I am not dark  _or_ broody –"

"But you have nothing to worry about now that you've absolutely charmed them after the First Challenge! Take Astoria, for example. Ever since this little party began, she's been…" She glared at a spot behind Harry with a scowl. " _Hovering._ "

Harry subtly sneaked a glance behind his shoulder and was surprised to see Astoria by the edge of the dance floor, loyally tracking him and Pansy as they moved from one place to another. Astoria had the face of a predator seeking out her prey. Her soft brown hair arranged into ringlets were also very, very pretty.

"Harry, I  _will_ snog you in front of all these people if you don't stop ogling another girl while dancing with  _me_ ," Pansy muttered dangerously from in front of him.

Harry snapped his eyes back to her faithfully. "I wasn't ogling."

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him. "It's awfully rude."

"I…" Harry started guiltily, before a brilliant idea popped in his head. "I was just thinking that your hair looks better. The curls match your heart-shaped face more."

Pansy's face was by no means heart-shaped, but he figured she would like that description. He was right. Pansy's face broke out into a satisfied grin. "Honestly, Harry, flattery will get you everywhere. If only I wasn't so enamoured with Draco, I really would snog you."

Harry's throat constricted painfully. He wasn't sure if it was at the thought of Pansy and Draco being  _enamoured_  with each other or at the thought of Pansy snogging him. Really. He had no idea what was with everyone's obsession with snogging.

" _A-ny-way,"_ Pansy articulated with a sing-song voice as she twirled them around, making sure her dress swayed with her movements. "Back to the topic. What are the chances Draco won't hex me if I snog him?"

"Uhm," Harry said. He was starting to feel a bit sick. Maybe it was because they were twirling too much. "I'm not sure what Malfoy thinks about snogging."

Pansy's eyes widened, before she nodded fervently in understanding. "That's true. You'll have to ask him then."

Harry's jaw dropped. He closed his mouth. It fell open again. "Wh… wh, why me?!"

Pansy looked at him as if he was asking the most ridiculous question in the world. " _I_ can't ask him. It would be too obvious!"

Harry was pretty sure the whole of Hogwarts  _and_ the whole of Beauxbatons already knew that Pansy had a crush on Draco Malfoy. The Durmstrang students seemed either rather thick in the head or rather too obsessed with their Viktor Krum to care about other things. Hell, Harry was sure that  _Malfoy himself_ knew that Pansy had a crush on him.

Needless to say, he spent the rest of the night glowering at his luck.

Lesson learned: Never ever agree to take Pansy Parkinson to a ball.

* * *

Harry didn't ask Draco what he thought of snogging.

Pansy could do it herself. Harry didn't owe her anything. And Harry certainly didn't care about what Draco thought about snogging. It was absolutely irrelevant and unimportant.

As unimportant as the traitorously warm feeling at the pit of his stomach when Draco casually bumped against him during Potions class and slipped gillyweed in his pocket. Harry's eyes had immediately darted to Professor Snape because even  _he_ wouldn't be exempt from Professor Snape's fury when he found out that his inventory didn't match up. Fortunately, Professor Snape didn't seem to have noticed Draco's sticky fingers with all the students clamouring all over the shelves gathering ingredients for their Girding Potions.

Harry spent the rest of that Potions class with a hammering heart and a slimy pocket.

* * *

The morning of the Second Task came and it was a dreary, winter morning. The sky was covered by thick clouds, making the water of the Great Lake look murkier than normal. It had already stopped snowing but the cold bite of the winter still had everyone wearing gloves and scarves and knitted coats. Harry, shivering in his tank top and shorts as he waited for Dumbledore to start the festivities, envied them greatly.

Actually, Harry wasn't quite sure if he was shivering because of the cold or because of the thought of submerging himself in that lake. With killer mermaids and who knows what else. He wasn't very assured that the professors would be able to make it in a time should a mermaid decide to claw his face off at the bottom of the lake.

He searched the stage and the stands, looking to catch a glimpse of Severus. It was pitiful how he was seeking comfort. He should be more composed at a time like this. Severus would definitely disapprove at how he was shaking like a coward. Actually, where  _was_ Severus anyway? Harry hadn't seen him all morning.

He glanced at the crowd again, this time searching for another familiar person to seek comfort in. Instead of searching for Severus' all-black ensemble, now he was searching for something brighter. White blond.

He saw Theodore waving wildly at him from the Slytherin stands. He was yelling things that was drowned out by everyone else yelling. Harry grinned weakly at him. Beside Theodore was Pansy and Blaise, but Draco was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he went to the loo?

He didn't have much time to dwell on it, however, when Dumbledore's voice boomed from the stage.

"Welcome all to the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament!"

Harry quickly swallowed his gillyweed.

* * *

In retrospect, maybe he had swallowed his gillyweed too early.

Gillyweed was said to last only for an hour and Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed under the dark, murky waters of the Lake. Granted, the slimy plant let him see through the water clearly, and he really didn't like what he was seeing. There was the occasional harmless fish, but more pressing were the human-shaped silhouettes in the distance coming from both sides. They darted around, sometimes even disappearing, but Harry felt their constant presence.

He hurried his swimming. A part of him was ecstatic at the feeling of gliding through the water effortlessly and breathing as if he was above ground. Maybe he could steal some gillyweed from Snape's stocks in the Manor during the summer. But another part of him wanted this over with, because there were dubious creatures all around him, creatures that he was pretty sure would attack if he came near enough –

More silhouettes floated in the far distance.

Harry almost stopped, but he noticed that these silhouettes weren't moving like the other ones he had seen. They were just… floating. Four dark figures in the distance, floating in equal distances from each other.

Before Harry could contemplate this anymore, the sound of water rushing from behind him made him turn his head right in time to see a huge shark zoom by him. This huge shark had a human body. A rather buff human body.

Viktor Krum turned his shark head towards Harry and nodded once in acknowledgement, before continuing to gracefully swim towards those four silhouettes.

Harry followed suit. He had a gnawing dread what those silhouettes were and what they needed to do…

He saw Viktor Krum swim to the farthest one on the left. Harry willed his webbed feet and hands to bring him nearer as fast as they could. He recognized the silhouettes one by one.

The one that Viktor Krum was currently entangling from the seaweed encasing her was a Gryffindor in his year. Hermione Granger. Beside her was a child in Beauxbatons' robes. Harry's stomach churned at their deathly white pallors and their closed eyes.

 _They're okay. Just charmed._ He told himself.

Beside Fleur Delacour's sister was another student from his year. Ravenclaw Seeker Cho Chang. And beside her…

Harry's blood turned cold.

Severus Snape's immobile body floated just a few meters away from him.

* * *

Harry's body moved before his mind could register what was happening.

The goal of the Second Task was to find something important that belonged to them. He heard the blood rushing in his ears. He felt like he was seeing white even as his hands ripped off the tendrils of seaweed from Severus' torso. He vaguely registered Cedric Diggory behind him, with the bubble around his head, doing the same for Cho Chang.

Deep inside, Harry knew that everything would be okay once they returned to dry land. But seeing Severus like that… Harry felt another chill rack his body.  _No,_ he told himself firmly.  _Focus. Severus is fine._

He'll be furious when he wakes up, but he's  _fine_.

Viktor Krum and his shark head was the first to swim away, back in the direction they had come. Hermione Granger was safely tucked in his arms. Cedric Diggory was next, trying to swim properly while carrying Cho Chang. And Harry looked behind him, and saw the little figure of Gabrielle Delacour. Her innocent face was turned bravely upwards, believing that her sister would come for her.

Her sister that was nowhere in sight.

Again, Harry's body was moving before his mind knew what he was doing.

* * *

It all started to catch up to him ten seconds after he realized that mermaids were chasing him. He was underwater, hauling two bodies (one was a small child,  _sure_ , but the other was a full-grown adult!) through the water with him, and  _mermaids with teeth and claws were chasing him._

He grit his teeth and paddled his webbed feet faster.

He was going to get Severus and Fleur Delacour's sister to safety.

* * *

The things that happened next he would remember afterwards as flashes.

" _HARRY POTTER –"_ in Lee Jordan's voice.

"For showing outstanding courage and moral fiber –" in Dumbledore's voice, and then, "In second place,  _HARRY POTTER!"_

Fleur Delacour's hot tears falling on his damp neck as she sobbed in his arms, thanking him for saving her sister.

Severus, dripping wet and his hair plastered flat on his head, spluttering furiously and cursing Albus and Minerva alternately for putting him in an Enchanted Sleep.

The defeaning roar of the crowd.

And finally, sleep.

* * *

He woke up in his dorm room.

"You're really not one for physical activities, are you?" came Theodore's snort from his right.

Harry propped himself up on one elbow in an effort to sit up and groaned at the protest his back made. "Never tried to be much of a swimmer before," he muttered, but forced his body to move anyway.

"Yeah, and you only agree to play Quidditch with me during the summer." Theodore's voice held a bit of an accusatory tone in it, as if he still wasn't over the fact the Draco Malfoy got Harry to agree to join the Quidditch Team after years of his efforts in doing the same thing.

But Harry looked at him and he realized that Theodore was only joking, if his impish smirk was anything to go by. "How long have I been asleep?"

"It's 10 in the evening now. Professor Snape told me to tell you to come to his quarters as soon as you're awake."

Harry's eyebrows raised in confusion. "Even if it's past curfew?"

The look that Theodore gave him was dry. "When has curfew ever stopped you?"

Harry couldn't stop the grin that formed on his face. He often made late night trips to the kitchens to swipe some treacle tarts. After all, what was the point of having an Invisibility Cloak if you weren't going to use it?

* * *

After Theodore filled him with the details after he passed out ("Diggory got first place, you passed out – I'm not sure if it's because you were dead tired or because Fleur Delacour kissed you on the cheek, you  _lucky mongrel_ – and we threw a party in honor of our unconscious housemate's victory! Malfoy says you owe him for the gillyweed, someone spiked the punch, Zabini got drunk and snogged Astoria, but between you and me, I really don't think he drank any of the punch."), Harry sneaked through the dungeons of Hogwarts under the Invisibility Cloak.

It had been a Christmas gift from Sirius and Remus during his first year, with a note from Remus about how it had been his father's and explicit instructions from Sirius to  _KEEP SECRET FROM SMELLY SNAPE._ The next day, Harry excitedly told Severus about the cloak, but not about Sirius' note. He was sure that given the cloak's history, Remus had already informed Severus about them gifting it to Harry.

Remus was thoughtful like that. Sirius, on the other hand, only kept up his banter with Snape as an old habit, but Harry really wasn't sure what Severus thought about them. It was a touchy subject, and Harry knew that Severus only refrained from speaking about it because he knew about how much Harry loved them.

Nearing Severus' office, Harry felt an already familiar wave of appreciation for the man. Severus wasn't sweet –  _absolutely far from it_ – but Harry supposed that that was what made his small acts of thoughtfulness seem like grand gestures.

 _'_ _We've taken what you'll sorely miss_ _._ _'_

He wondered for the umpteenth time what life would be like if Severus hadn't taken him from the Dursleys. Eight years away from his days in Privet Drive, it was still his bad habit. He wondered what life would be like without Severus.

Harry hurried his pace, ignoring the slight soreness in his legs. Memories of Severus' immobile, floating body and pale, gaunt face in the murky waters of the Great Lake flashed in his head. He had a really strong urge to see Severus, see him moving and alive and  _there_ –

Severus was sitting behind his desk in his office, a lamp at his side and an irritated look on his face.

Harry willed his heart to calm down as he closed the door behind him and removed the Invisibility Cloak.

Severus put his quill down with one last defeated sigh at the papers in front of him. He waved offhandedly at the teacup sitting at the edge of his desk, steam still rising from its contents. Harry reckoned Severus had put a Warming Charm on it.

"Drink," came Severus' dry drawl. "It should help soothe your muscles."

Harry placed the cloak on the desk, before taking the cup with both hands gratefully. The warmth was just right. "How about you?"

Severus raised an eyebrow. "What about me?"

Harry shrugged, feeling embarrassed at the realization that Severus now knows that he's the most important person to Harry. Well, it  _was_ already a given, but Harry still couldn't stop himself from feeling embarrassed about it. "I mean, you were underwater for an hour, too…"

At that, Severus' face immediately transformed into a dark scowl. "Yes, and I've already rightfully threatened Albus with bodily harm for that."

"Sorry," Harry said, feeling sheepish now. "For getting you involved."

Severus' eyebrow raised once more. "Do I seem angry for being involved, Harry?"

Well,  _yes,_ Harry wanted to say, but Severus waved his response away with a hand. "I am furious at Albus and Minerva for putting me to sleep without my consent. And I  _would_ have consented had they been  _civilized_ enough to ask," he said with such disgust that Harry wondered if Severus really did threaten Headmaster Dumbledore with bodily harm.

But then Severus sighed, and his face relaxed just a tiny bit, as he started to collect the papers scattered on his desk and arrange them into a neat pile. "I had complete faith that you would see the Second Task through."

Harry's head snapped up, surprised at the words and the man they came from. Severus didn't pause in his ministrations of decluttering his desk.

Harry let himself grin as he took a sip of the tea and felt it warm his belly. Maybe he wasn't the only one embarrassed.

The grin immediately dropped from his face at Severus' next words:

"Now, on the issue of your detention with Mr. Draco Malfoy for stealing from my ingredients…"

* * *

" _YOU OWE ME DEARLY, POTTER,"_ Draco hissed in his ear the next evening, rubbing furiously at the jar of newt eyeballs with a wet towel and a gloved hand.

Harry rubbed his own jar with an apologetic smile. "Yes, Draco, you've told me that ten times already for the past half hour we've been doing this." He put his already clean jar on the shelf, resolutely not thinking about what was inside. It looked very disturbingly like tongues, but ignorance is bliss, as Sirius always said.

" _And I will keep saying it for the next two hours we're in here, or so Merlin help me I will_ – _"_

Harry noted that Draco and Severus seemed to have that in common, a penchant for threats of physical incapacitation.

All jokes aside, however, Harry  _did_ feel guilty for having Draco clean Severus' cupboard of ingredients with him. After all, Draco only went out of his way to get Gillyweed so that Harry could get through the Second Task safely…

Wait,  _that_ didn't sound right. Malfoy definitely wasn't someone who was running to be a saint. He cut off Draco's tirade. "Why did you help me, anyway?"

Draco looked at him incredulously, as if unbelieving that anyone could be so clueless. "To get you in my debt,  _of course_."

Of course. Harry's mouth opened to form an 'o' in understanding. Well, that made sense. He should have expected that, after years of forced mingling with the pureblood families in boring balls.

"On the highly off chance that you'll win the Triwizard Tournament, Potty, I need to be ready to blackmail you into using your fame and power to give me what I want. And even if you  _lose,_  which is more likely to be honest, no offense –"

Harry shrugged.

"– You'd still owe me and I can still blackmail you into doing whatever I see fit. It's a win-win situation."

Harry snorted. "For you, you mean."

Draco politely ignored that. "But now that I'm doing this absolutely  _Muggle_ –" He spat the word with disgust. "– job, you're going to have to owe me ten times now."

Harry looked at him incredulously. "That doesn't even add up, Malfoy."

"That's okay, I know you're horrid at arithmetic."

" _What?"_

"And I'm going to have a word with my father about this, I can't believe Severus! This is mistreatment! Child abuse! Forbidding us to use magic to clean his dirty cupboard –"

"The cleaning spells might interfere with the magical properties of the ingredients, Malfoy," Harry said dutifully, even though he was well aware that considering Draco's unhealthy love for Potions, he already knew that.

Again, Draco ignored him. "Giving us ratty towels,  _merde,_ if I get sick and die with all this dust, Potter, I'm blaming  _you."_

Maybe it was the carefree conversation he was having with Draco after so many years. Being in the same year and house for the past three and a half years, of course he'd had conversations with Draco before in the common room, in between classes, or in those fancy balls, but not like this, with just the two of them in close quarters. Harry had made sure to avoid conversations like this as much as he could.

Maybe it was the incredulity of spending time alone with him again like before, Before the Time Turner. Like… like friends.

Maybe it was the fame from the Triwizard Tournament getting to his head and giving him an unnecessary confidence that Harry forgot himself enough to say, carefree and earnest and with a laugh, "Merlin, I missed your whining."

As soon as the words slipped past his lips, he immediately knew what a mistake they were.

Draco was giving him a weird look.

Of course, it would be weird. That definitely had the wrong tone and context for we're-not-really-friends housemates. He turned his back to Draco, faced the shelves, and made a show of getting another jar to clean. He willed his heart down his throat and his fingers to stop shaking. "I don't know how Blaise and Pansy can handle it," he said with forced exasperation, trying to pass it off as sarcasm, hoping that Draco wouldn't think anything of it, please, please, please –

"I do not  _whine,_ Potter," Draco scoffed, looking and sounding absolutely insulted.

Harry felt his limbs relax all at once at the realization that  _oh,_ so that was what the weird look was about.

"I do not  _whine,_ I merely  _state and assert my opinion,_ and right now, my opinion of you is becoming less and less favorable the more time I am forced to spend holding this dirty towel –"

Harry sighed loudly. Draco hadn't been doing any work for the past five minutes he had been  _stating and asserting his opinion._ If this keeps up, they were going to have a long night. "Malfoy, leave the scrubbing to me and just do the inventory, would you?"

_"WHAT?"_

To Harry's chagrin, the next ten minutes was spent listening to Draco's litany of  _you do not tell me what to do, Potter_ and  _WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME EARLIER I COULD HAVE DONE THE INVENTORY INSTEAD._

It really was going to be a long night.

* * *

An hour into detention, Harry had already finished cleaning six out of eight cupboards and Draco had finished the inventory of four.

By then, Harry was feeling pretty proud of himself of having shut Draco up by having him do what he liked to do best – looking through Potions ingredients (without cleaning them). But the silence was also starting to become awkward, though Harry was sure that it was just him. It was almost unfair, how Harry was feeling so hyperconscious and sensitive to Draco's every movement and breath, while Draco was preoccupied only with his task of counting beetle legs.

Harry usually avoided starting conversations with Draco, but he also usually avoided being alone with Draco, so this was… Well, this was uncomfortable.

"Malfoy, Pansy wanted me to ask you something," he blurted out.

Draco didn't skip a beat in his counting even as he replied, "Is this about snogging? Because I can tell you now, Potter, that you're not the first one to tell me that." He finished counting and wrote the number down on his parchment with a satisfied nod.

Harry was dumbfounded. He had been ready for a variety of replies, but he wasn't expecting  _that_.

At his silence, Draco looked up at him and smirked at the confusion on his face. "You're the fourth, actually. Nott was probably blackmailed, Zabini was bribed, and even  _Crabbe._ Crabbe was promised a cupcake."

Harry found himself opening and closing his mouth in bewilderment. When he finally gathered the wits to speak again, the only words he could muster were: "That's unfair, I want a cupcake, too."

To his even greater surprise, Draco  _laughed._

Harry immediately looked away. It made him feel funny. He swallowed and opened the seventh cupboard. "Well, have you snogged her yet?"

Draco resumed his task of counting, this time with wormwood leaves. "Not yet."

 _Not yet._ Not  _yet._ Harry felt his face burning. "So… you plan to?"

"I suppose. The Parkinson family is very influential, and I think my father approves."

Harry couldn't help looking back at Draco in incredulity. "We're only talking about  _snogging,_ Malfoy. Do you always think about family image?"

Draco scoffed, glaring at him. "Of course not. But it's how the Wizarding World works, Potter." He looked at Harry seriously. "Blood is gold."

And it was then that Harry realized that Malfoy had his own problems too. It made him wonder just how differently they had been brought up.

Draco turned back to his leaves. "What about you, Potter? Thinking of using the fame you've gotten from the Tournament to sweep a damsel off her feet?"

Just like that, Harry felt embarrassment washing over him again. He grabbed a jar and scrubbed it with gusto. "I'm not interested."

"Oh?"

Harry could almost  _hear_ Draco's smirk.

"Didn't think you were the shy type."

"I'm not  _shy,_ Malfoy. Just too busy trying to stop dragons and mermaids from tearing my limbs off."

And just like that, it was like a switch was flipped. "Ah, yes, you're welcome with that mermaid part, by the way. Tell me  _again_ why I'm doing detention with you?"

Harry sighed heavily. Maybe this was the reason why he usually avoided starting conversations with Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Two hours later, they both stood in front of the cabinet, perusing their job well done. "It brings me such joy to see such an organized ingredients cabinet. I think I did pretty well, don't you think so too, Potter?"

Harry gave him a dry look. " _I'm_ the one who organized the cabinet, Malfoy."

"Small detail," Draco agreed, rolling his finished parchment and settling it on Severus' desk. "But if you want me to compliment you that much, then you did a pretty good job, too. One might even think you're used to this kind of work."

Harry rolled his eyes and ignored the memories of scrubbing the garden tools clean under the heat of the sun and his burning skin. "You're a prat, you know that?" he said, but his words carried no heat. In fact, he even found himself smiling in exasperated amusement.

He was surprised to see Draco grinning back. "Should you really be insulting me right now, after you had me go through detention despite my charity and kindness to help you –"

"Alright, we should be leaving," Harry cut him off quickly. He took out his wand to cast a Tempus, and his eyes boggled at the time. " _Shite_ , Malfoy, it's past curfew. This is your fault and your incessant whining."

Draco looked affronted. "I told you, Potter, I do not  _whine."_

Harry grabbed his school bag on the nearest chair and rummaged inside. "Tell that to Filch when he catches us," he muttered.

Draco's eyes widened at the realization. "Filch! They say he hangs students from  _chains_ –" He stopped when Harry removed something from his bag and moved to throw it over Draco's head. On impulse, Draco ducked his head and yelped. " _Potter, what are you doing?!"_

"Shh, Malfoy, keep it down," came Harry's hiss.

Draco felt soft, velvet cloth tumble down his head and shoulders. He opened his eyes, and was surprised to see Harry so close. He was also surprised to see that he could still see Severus' office, even though he was well-aware that there was something separating them.

He whistled under his breath. "Is this an Invisibility Cloak, Potter? You fiendish, little bugger. Isn't it illegal to own one of these? Where can I get one?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but found himself shaking his head in amusement. "It's not illegal, Malfoy. And if you don't shut up, it won't matter if we've got the cloak or not, Filch will hear you a mile away."

Draco flashed him a mischievous smile. "I exist to make your life harder, Potter, don't you know that?"

* * *

As they walked back to the dungeons, Draco occasionally complaining about Harry stepping on his foot, Harry let himself think that this was… okay.

Maybe it was okay to be friends. It's been three years – or was it four if you count the extra year Harry spent rewriting, it was confusing – since the incident that happened in the Forbidden Forest, and Draco was alive, and Draco After the Time Turner didn't even know what Narcissa Before the Time Turner said.

After the Time Turner, Harry and Narcissa met inside Zabini's mansion in one of their extravagant parties during the Christmas holidays of his second year. Severus had introduced them, and it was uncomfortably short and forcibly polite.

Narcissa, Harry was painfully aware, hated vampires. He saw it in the way she kept her hands clasped together, fighting habits that commanded her body to reach for a handshake. He saw it in the way her lips curled in disgust when she thought he wasn't looking, and in the way she kept her distance as far as etiquette allowed.

And he saw it in his mind's eye, coupled with the words drumming painfully in his ears:  _"You should never have been friends with that boy."_

But Narcissa had kept her smile sweet. She kept her voice light and gentle. And she kept her hands clasped and pressed to her stomach. "It's nice to finally meet you, Harry. I've heard so much about you."

But as far as Time After the Time Turner was concerned, Narcissa never said those haunting words. She never visited Snape Manor during that fateful summer, she never grabbed Draco's arm and forcibly pulled him towards the Floo, and never forbade him from being friends with Harry Potter.

As far as Time After the Time Turner was concerned, they never had detention in the Forbidden Forest and Draco was alive and safe and it's been how many years since then, so surely…

Surely, it's okay to be friends with Draco Malfoy again.

**to be continued**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I UNDERSTAND THAT IT'S BEEN A YEAR I'm horrible at this updating thing ;;;;; Aaaa so I'm making no promises but I'm almost done with chapter 5, and I aim to update every Saturday/Sunday, and YES, I do aim to finish this!
> 
> For those that have been with me since the prologue, those who have sent me lovely messages, thank you, you are angels, please don't be angry at me ;;;;; And for those reading this for the first time, please bear with me, it's going to be a long ride /SWEATS but I do hope you enjoy this!


	4. Fourth Year: Third Task

Remus' gaunt face greeted him a week later in the Slytherin Common Room.

"Where's Sirius?" Harry asked, hugging his quilt closer around him.

"Sulking," Remus replied, chuckling. "A grown man whining about why it had to be Severus and not him under the Great Lake. I keep telling him he's a wanted fugitive in hiding for the past decade, but I suppose I'll have to try harder."

Harry found himself sighing. A sulking Sirius is always a troublesome Sirius. More so than usual. "Thanks, Remus. How are you doing?"

The full moon had just come and passed, and it was easy to tell with the dark circles under Remus' eyes that it had been a particularly difficult cycle.

"I'm doing fine, Harry," Remus said, smiling gratefully. "The Wolfsbane Potion that Severus gave me has been working wonders."

Harry nodded, used to Remus making things sound better than they really were because he didn't want others to worry. "Have you told Severus that it's been getting worse lately?"

"Ah, yes," Remus admitted, chuckling sheepishly. "We're in constant correspondence, actually."

Harry was surprised at that. He didn't think Severus and Remus were the type to frequently Owl each other, even if it was to make sure that Harry's keeping himself out of trouble. "I'm sorry I can't be of much help," he said, frowning.

Remus waved it off with a hand. "Nonsense, Harry. Don't worry about me. If you ask me, you have other, more pressing matters to worry about. How were the mermaids?"

"Dreadful," Harry answered immediately. "Terrifying."

Remus' smile widened. "Congratulations on getting second place. Are you having fun, though?"

"If by fun, you mean I really can't wait for the Tournament to be over, then yes," Harry said, deadpan. Then, he thought about finally flying a broomstick in Hogwarts, besting a dragon, diving in the Great Lake, swimming with mermaids, dancing in the Yule Ball, having people come up to him and give him high fives… so different from the past years that he would spend trying not to stand out and others pretending that he wasn't.

And all the times that he had spent this year talking with Pansy, Blaise, and Draco again.

A hopeful little thing bloomed in his chest.

It was scary.

"But," he started, his lips turning up into a small smile. "Yes, I think I am having fun."

* * *

The next few months passed by in an excruciatingly slow pace. Harry supposed it was easy to feel restless knowing the number of days left that you're scheduled to probably die.

"You're not going to die, Harry," Theodore sighed, as they were sitting in the Common Room playing another round of chess. As always, Harry was losing. "You're probably just going to be incapacitated, but nothing a few shots of Skele-Gro won't fix."

Harry ate his queen, slamming his knight down a little bit louder than was necessary. "I don't know about you, but I have a low tolerance for being incapacitated."

Others still sent him scathing looks, but most had warmed up to him enough that he would get quite a number of high-fives in a day. Astoria still hovered, but could be seen snogging with Zabini in a corner on Saturdays. Severus still gave out Dreadfuls, and Mad-Eye Moody still held creepy and disturbing lessons. Harry was pretty sure he had developed a sort of fancy with a Gryffindor in his year, Neville Longbottom.

He and Draco interacted more than before, but other than that, it was mostly still the same. Harry hanged out with Theodore, and Draco, Pansy, and Blaise formed their own group. They would often disappear during dinner time on weekends, though, not that Harry noticed because he always looked for white-blond hair every meal time out of habit.

Soon enough, it was June, and Harry had only a day left before the Third Task.

Nightfall had him staring up at the roof of his bed, head swirling with mixed emotions. First of all, he was desperately trying not to succumb to the fear that felt like it wanted to crawl out of his heart and all over his body.  _It's okay. It's fine. Severus and the Headmaster won't let anything happen to you. It won't be_ that  _dangerous._

Second, he was partly relieved that the Tournament was coming to an end. All he had to do was survive the next day and he could go back to his relatively peaceful life.

Third, he was surprised to find that he was… disappointed. This was the most exciting thing that has happened in his life ever since the Time Turner, and the thrill of flying, being chased by a dragon, swimming under the Great Lake… Less conspiratorial whispers behind his back, other students in Hogwarts actually saying hi to him, slowly getting more friends…

They were all also going to end.

* * *

The crowd was deafening.

It was all a blur of loud noises and screams and bright lights and too many people talking.

Ludo Bagman had put a Sonorus Charm on himself and was announcing something about the standings and how that would decide the order the Champions would enter the Maze.

Harry divided his attention between Bagman's words and his surroundings. The stands were filled with students and banners of different sizes and colors. The Hogwarts' side was divided into colors of green and yellow, with the latter occupying considerably more space. There were so many people that Harry didn't even try to look for that specific blond hair anymore.

Beside him were the other Champions, illuminated by lights and the shine of the moon. They were all looking at Bagman, listening intently with firm determination and hard resolve. Harry looked behind him.

Hedges twenty feet high built up the Maze, and a huge gap in the maze made up its entrance. The contents of the Maze were hidden by a dark shroud, and Harry found himself not wanting to go in it.

However, as soon as that feeling made itself known, Harry quickly stamped it down. He was going to get through this. He was going to finish this Maze. He'd come this far. He'd practiced all the spells he could.

Now that he was here… Nothing was going to stop him from getting to the Triwizard Cup.

On Bagman's whistle, he rushed headfirst into the Maze with Cedric Diggory.

* * *

It had been approximately ten minutes since he and Cedric decided to go their separate ways. Judging by Bagman's other two whistles, all of the Champions were now currently in the Maze. Harry had been turning left and right, but so far hadn't encountered any trouble… and that was what slowly made him more suspicious, more nervous.

It was eerie, the quiet inside the Maze. Everything was surrounded by a thick fog, so that you wouldn't be able to see that far off in the distance even with Lumos. From time to time, Harry would hear sounds – slithering, crickets, a shuffle… but nothing would come out of the shadows to attack him. He wasn't sure if that made him relieved or even more terrified.

He rolled his wrist, keeping it warmed up just in case he needed to immediately flick it with an Impediment Jinx.

And then –

Something burst out from the hedges and Harry pointed his wand, ready to attack – but it was only Cedric, frazzled and out of breath and burnt slightly at the sleeves, yammering about Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts, but he was gone as soon as he came.

Harry hurried along, not very eager to meet those Blast-Ended Skrewts he was talking about.

And then, as he turned a corner, he heard it –

_"Ha… rry…"_

His blood turned cold. Suddenly, it was like he was 11 years old again and this was the Forbidden Forest with all its dark trees and vines, and on the ground, dirty with roots and soil, was a young boy with white blond hair and bright, red blood shining in the moonlight–

" _Riddikulus!"_

And the Boggart scampered off into the dark.

Harry came to himself with a gasp. It was like going back in Time, Before the Time Turner, and it made him sick to the stomach. It was the scene that he kept on having nightmares about, and to see it unfold again, before his very eyes… He kept the bile down with a hard swallow.

Leaning heavily on the fence, he wiped away the sweat on his face using his sleeve, noting belatedly that his hand was shaking.

He was grateful that he had studied and practiced the Riddikulus Spell on his own before the Third Task. He was grateful that it worked. He didn't want to ask for help from Severus or Remus, because he was already sure what form the Boggart would take.

And he wasn't happy being right.

* * *

He made it. He was in front of the Triwizard Cup with Cedric Diggory, ready to hold it together for a Hogwarts win. It had been a grueling hour. Or was it two hours now? In that span of time, Harry had entered an odd mist, been hanged upside down, heard Fleur scream, shot an Impediment Jinx on a Blast-Ended Skrewt, answered a Sphinx's riddle, Stupefied Viktor Krum who had horrifyingly cast an Unforgivable on Cedric (They were going to have to talk to Professor Dumbledore about this one.), and defeated a giant spider.

Harry could feel his bones and muscles screaming with fatigue, but most of all, he could feel his fractured leg – courtesy of the spider – begging for attention.

After defeating the giant spider together, he and Cedric had spent quite a while arguing on who should get the Triwizard Cup first. Blasted Diggory and his honor. It was annoying as it was really, really admirable. If he could just get through the fog of the pain in his leg right now, Harry could say that he was genuinely impressed.

So now, they both stood in front of the Cup, each with one hand hovering over each handle. They looked at each other and nodded, ready to give glory to Hogwarts.

They reached out for the Cup at the same time.

* * *

It was a Portkey.

Harry was expecting to be back in the Quidditch Pitch, at the entrance of the Maze, with the roar of the crowd in his ears and Severus helping him stand up so that he could finally remove some pressure from his leg. He was ready to collapse and sleep, he didn't care about the Tournament anymore, it was  _over,_ he and Cedric made it through the Maze, he made it through the Tournament, they were  _Champions_  –

But they weren't back in the Quidditch Pitch.

Harry realized this belatedly, because it was sickeningly quiet and no one was helping him stand up and his ankle  _hurt_ … And Cedric was muttering, " _Don't move, Potter."_

And then Harry's blood turned cold. Harry smelled him first before he saw him. All his vampire instincts was telling him to run away, to flee, to get away from that vile stench – smelling like a half-rotten corpse and spoiled blood.

And then all of a sudden, his scar – which had not hurt in  _years_ – burst with pain and Harry shouted, loudly, crumpling to his knees, and he almost didn't hear the words that disrupted the quiet of the night:

_"Kill the spare."_

"Avada Kedavra!"

Through the pain, Harry forced his eyes open, screamed in terror as Cedric Diggory fell to the ground, dead just like that. He tried to leap towards Cedric, but hands grabbed his shoulders and shoved him on the nearest tombstone, and then ropes were slithering and pulling across his body to keep him there.

Harry was still reeling from the pain. Behind him, he could hear someone moving, footsteps on the ground, something stirring, and stone clanking against stone. Cedric's body was twenty feet away. He was dead. Harry couldn't believe it.

Harry struggled against the rope, looking elsewhere – anywhere but Cedric's body – and searching for his wand. He found it on the ground, near his bent knees. Harry craned his neck backwards, and saw a black, hooded figure leaning over a stone cauldron that bubbled noisily. On the ground was a bundle of cloth, and it was where the smell was coming from, and it flooded the insides of Harry's nostrils and intensified the pain in his head even more.

The hooded figure reverently lifted the bundle up. Just like that, it almost looked like a baby. Like a newborn child teeming with life and innocence. But it smelled dead.

The cloth was pushed back. Harry wasn't sure why the bile crawled up his throat. He didn't know if it was because of the pain in his head, the knowledge that Cedric's lifeless body was just a few feet away from him, or… or the sight of that creature in the cloth, like a disfigured child, curled up on itself, hairless, scaly, its skin raw and reddish and black like a festering burn wound.

It was raised in the air, and then above and inside the cauldron, and then the hooded figure was speaking, its voice trembling with what sounded like both fear and excitement.

_"Bone of the father… unknowingly given… you will renew your son!"_

And then the ground underneath Harry cracked, and Harry watched, terrified, as a sliver of white dust rose from the crack and into the cauldron. The liquid in the cauldron sizzled.

The hooded figure continued, its voice trembling even more this time, as he procured a knife from his pocket.  _"Flesh of the servant, w-willingly given, you will_ –" A choking sound. "–  _revive your master."_

The knife was raised and the hooded figure raised a hand along with it. Harry watched in horror at the sight of the hand with its pinky missing, and knew what the figure was about to do. He closed his eyes as a piercing scream sliced through the air, and Harry knew that there was no hand left there now.

The figure was heaving now, taking in ragged gasps of breath in between sobs, and then Harry heard footsteps… Coming closer…

Harry opened his eyes. The figure was coming near him, knife ready.

"No!" Harry shouted, thrashing against the tombstone.

The figure paid him no mind.

_"Blood of the enemy… forcibly taken… you will resurrect your foe!"_

He strained against the ropes, felt its burn as it chafed his skin, but could only grit his teeth and clench his jaw when the knife pierced the skin of his arm. The blood dripping down his hand felt hot.

Harry watched, dizzy, as his blood was collected in a glass phial, and then poured inside the cauldron. He watched like he had been separated from his body, like he was watching all these unfold like an outsider, as the cauldron sizzled, then spluttered, until it was sending hot streams of viscous liquid everywhere, and then –

Thick, white fog emanated from the cauldron.

And, with a sense of despair and defeat, Harry knew.

He could smell it in his nose, could feel it in his skin, in his blood, and in his scar.

Lord Voldemort had risen once again.

* * *

Soon, loud pops and crackles in the air were heard all around them.

More and more hooded figures appeared in the night, until there were about ten, twenty of them, all gathered around the Dark Lord, Harry still tied to the tombstone, and Cedric Diggory's body.

As they appeared, they each offered words of welcome, some even going as far to kneel down and kiss Voldemort's dirty, rotten feet.

_"My Lord."_

_"Master… master…"_

_"Welcome back, my Lord."_

_"We have missed you, master."_

This continued until the last pop, and instead of a hastily and desperately expressed greeting, Harry heard a gasp.

Harry didn't know he could get even more terrified that he already was.

He almost didn't want to look, but he  _knew… He would know that voice anywhere._

Beside his father, cloaked as well in black, stood Draco Malfoy.

* * *

_"My, what do we have here, Lucius?"_

Voldemort's voice was as disgusting as his smell. It was like hundreds of snakes hissing, spluttering words of venom at each other. And it sounded pleased at what he saw.

"My son, my Lord," Lucius Malfoy replied. In the haze of his dizziness, Harry thought that Lucius sounded nervous. But his regal stance and his confident gaze hid it quite well. "Here to pledge allegiance to you."

_No,_ Harry thought.  _No, no, no, Draco would never_ –

"Is that true, young Malfoy?" Voldemort said, the hissing sounding almost like a satisfied purr.

And Harry already knew what Draco's answer would be, what he himself wanted Draco's answer to be. To say no to the Dark Lord meant immediate death, Harry knew. Cedric's open, lifeless eyes told him so.

" _Yes,"_ Draco whispered, barely audible. It was almost a squeak. Harry couldn't believe his eyes.

Draco Malfoy, 14 years old with his beautiful, blond hair, standing in a group of adults, all dressed in black and blood and murder. It just… It was  _wrong._

"Wonderful," Voldemort said, his thin, white, and bloodless lips smiling. He turned his back to Draco and addressed the others.

As soon as Voldemort's attention was removed from him, Draco finally let his horrified eyes fall on Harry Potter, still tied to the tombstone, blood gushing and dripping down his arm. They locked eyes, both wide with terror, and Harry knew that Draco didn't really want to be here.

They needed to get out of here together.

"Wonderful, gentlemen. Lucius has brought me his firstborn. It is a wonderful gift," Voldemort continued on, sounding as if he was genuinely pleased. And then his voice lowered, slowly turning colder and colder with each word he rolled off his tongue. "What about you? What do you have to offer me? Thirteen years, gentlemen. Some of you have renounced me. Some have ignored me."

There was a dead quiet. Feet shuffled nervously. Fear smelled so strongly in the air, it made Harry light-headed again.

Voldemort's smile widened. Yellow, rotting teeth. Gums the color of fresh blood. Pointed fangs, reminding Harry that Voldemort was a vampire too, that it was Voldemort's fault that  _he_ was a vampire, and that once upon a time, Voldemort had drank his blood… The same blood now that gave him a body.

"I smell guilt, my friends."

One of the hooded figures broke free of the circle that they had formed around Voldemort. He threw himself on the ground, on Voldemort's feet, sobbing, worshipping, "Forgive us, master!"

Voldemort ignored him and turned his chilling smile to Lucius. "Is that why you have brought me your son, Lucius? To appease me?"

Lucius' face was pale. Paler than Draco's. "No, my Lord –"

Voldemort stopped him with a raise of his hand. "Oh, consider me appeased. Very much appeased. It is my first day in this new body, and I have not had a drink in such a long time."

Lucius, Draco, and Harry realized what he meant all at the same time.

_"Nagini, help me, my sweet."_

There was a serpent, large and sinuous, that leaped from the shadows and Harry watched, screamed, as it ripped son away from father and sank its fangs in Draco's neck.

It was all a blur after that.

Harry didn't know how he managed to break free from the ropes, he just knew that he was running towards Draco –  _a broken leg wasn't going to stop him_ – because Draco was bleeding, spluttering blood, and Nagini was squeezing the life out of him and there was chaos everywhere, everybody was screaming, and Harry saw Lucius fire a spell at the snake and lights were bursting out of everyone's wands –

Nagini slithered away from Draco, injured, hiding away to nurse her wounds.

Harry heard " _Avada Kedavra!"_ and figures falling to the ground with heavy thuds, but all Harry could see was Draco, covered in blood, again,  _not again, never again, Draco_ –

"DRACO!"

Draco's eyes were open, staring at him in shock. Blood seeped through his fingers and his lips, and as he spoke, blood splattered all over Harry's cloak and face. " _Po… tter…"_

"DRACO!"

There was no Time Turner to help him now, he had left the Time Turner in his chest in the Slytherin Dorms, vowing to never to use it again, and Harry thought that was  _stupid, fucking stupid,_ as he scooped Draco up in his arms.

Draco's body was hard a rock. Harry couldn't even bend his waist or his elbows.

The realization dawned on him like a sharp rock being dropped on his stomach.  _Poison._ Stupid fucking snake and her poison.

Draco was  _bleeding_ and dying in his arms again, and it didn't matter where they were, in the Forbidden Forest or in the middle of a fucking cemetery, but Draco was always dying in his arms, always bleeding, and…

Harry knew what he had to do.

He would save Draco, every time, again and again if he had to.

With a sob, he yanked open Draco's collar.

Every cell in his body recoiled from what he was about to do. Every moral and virtue he carried lashed out in disgust, and Harry sobbed, wishing that Draco wouldn't do the same once he found out what Harry did.

" _Please don't hate me for this,"_ he whispered, sank his fangs in Draco's neck, and  _drank_.

**to be continued**


	5. Fourth Year: Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind words so far! <3 It makes my day reading them!

****

Draco Malfoy woke up in cold sweat inside the Hospital Wing to bright sunlight and birds chirping. As if Lord Voldemort had not risen from the dead. As if Draco hadn't been bitten by Voldemort's humongous pet snake. As if he hadn't been bitten by  _Harry Potter._

_Vampire_.

He sat up in bed, and it was so abrupt that it made his head pound, but it was hard to care about that right now. His hand leaped to his neck, and Draco didn't know whether to calm down or panic about the gauze wrapped around it.

What did it mean? What did it mean to be bitten by Nagini? To be bitten by a vampire? Was he even alive? What happened?

And then, another thought occurred to him, one that made him sick and empty and hollow –

Where was his father? Was he even…  _No, he's alive, Draco,_ he told himself firmly, scrambling out from underneath the white covers.

Numbly, Draco recalled his father standing over him, shooting spell after spell, actually fighting fucking  _Lord Voldemort._ Does anyone even survive after fighting the Dark Lord? Potter did. They didn't really fight, but that was something, right? There was a chance…

At the back of his mind, he noted the emptiness of the Hospital Wing and the quiet of the castle. Normally, you would hear the voices of students chattering and laughing. But now, it was like… he was the only one left. The sound of blood rushing was loud in his ears, and he could feel his heart hammering at his chest with each beat.

He stumbled towards the doors of the Hospital Wing, ready to yank it open and demand for his father – when the doors opened on their own and his father stepped through, tired, thinner, but  _alive_ , sweet Merlin.

Lucius' eyes widened at the sight of his son.  _"Draco,"_ he breathed out, rushing forward to clutch Draco to his chest.

It was awkward. They weren't the hugging type of family. Draco couldn't remember the last time he hugged his father, but he hugged him now, still terrified at the what ifs and the what could have beens.

Suddenly, exhaustion swept through him and he found his knees buckling from underneath him.

" _Draco!"_

"Hush, Mr. Malfoy, you'll wake up my other patients," Madame Pomfrey admonished, appearing from behind a curtain with her wand ready.

With a few swishes and flicks, Draco felt his head clear up, but the nausea was still there. He also felt himself floating in mid-air, back towards his bed. The blanket tucked itself around him. His body sagged on the bed, relaxed. Madame Pomfrey must have given him a Relaxing Charm.

"Surely, Poppy, you won't keep a man from a tearful reunion with his injured son?"

Draco turned his head back towards the door and realized for the first time that his godfather, Severus, and Professor Dumbledore were also in the room. They had entered with Lucius.

"Of course not," Madame Pomfrey replied easily. Not missing a beat, she opened the cupboard near Draco's bed and procured a vial with clear liquid. She presented it to Draco. "Drink this, Mr. Malfoy, it should help with the headache."

Draco gulped it down, taking care not to let his disgust show in his face. Malfoys drank medicine with grace, even if it did taste like goblin feet.

"Does he still need the Blood-Replenishing Potion?" Lucius asked.

Draco felt discomfort prickle under his skin. He wasn't used to this. His father asking earnestly, without demanding. It reminded him that something must really be wrong.

"No more, I believe. His blood levels seem to be normal, but I will need to monitor it for the next three days. Too much of the Potion is also dangerous."

Lucius nodded.

Madame Pomfrey cast some more diagnostic spells on Draco. "Now, Mr. Malfoy, is there pain anywhere?"

Draco shook his head. "Other than my head, no. My neck feels a bit itchy."

Madame Pomfrey nodded in understanding. "That's expected. Tell me immediately if you feel something else." After Draco nodded, she wiped her apron down and turned to leave. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to tend to… ah, some other things."

As soon as she left, Draco turned to his father. He glanced back at Severus and Dumbledore, not sure about the things that he was allowed to ask in their presence. He opted for the safest one: "What happened?"

Lucius shared a glance with the two professors, as if they were agreeing on something.

The discomfort increased. His father and Severus were friends,  _yes,_ but since when was his father civil with Professor Dumbledore?

"There is a lot to tell, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said, his glasses slipping down his nose. "For starters, you have been asleep for ten days now."

Draco's eyes widened.  _"Ten days?!"_

"Yes, and for the best. You were in a dire state when Lucius brought you here," Dumbledore said gravely. "The students have all gone home for their summer holidays. You will also be able to leave in a few days, when Poppy will allow it."

" _If_ she allows it," Severus added dryly. They all knew how protective Madame Pomfrey was with her patients.

"But do not fear," Dumbledore continued. "I was told that you've healed quite well. Poppy has a salve so that wound on your neck won't scar." His eyes twinkled. "But I hear scars are quite popular with the ladies."

" _In other news,"_ Severus cut off, annoyance clear in his face. "Your mother should be here any minute."

Draco cringed. His mother always overreacted over things like this. But, considering who was involved, it would be stranger if his mother  _didn't_ overreact.

Draco was almost scared to ask. "What happened to…" He glanced at his father, not wanting to say the name.

Lucius shook his head. "I do not know, Draco. I used the Triwizard Cup to Portkey us back to Hogwarts as soon as I had the chance to."

"But that is not any of your concern, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore said to Draco gently. "Do not worry. Leave that to us."

Lucius nodded in agreement. "I believe you have other things to worry about. Like your mother."

Draco cringed. That was true. He glanced back and forth between his father and Dumbledore. "Are you…"  _In trouble?_ He wanted to ask, but his father seemed to understand.

"I am fine," Lucius said firmly. "The Malfoys are fine, as we have always been."

Draco nodded. He knew there were a lot more things they weren't telling him, and he really wasn't sure he wanted to know. He let himself believe in Dumbledore's words.  _That is not any of your concern. Do not worry. Leave that to us._

But there  _was_ one more thing he was worried about. And he was pretty sure this required all of his concern right now.

He looked at his father straight in the eyes and made sure his voice didn't tremble.

"Am I a vampire?"

* * *

He wasn't a vampire.

Thank  _Merlin._ He was thankful to be alive, but he didn't realize just how much he had been hoping that he  _wasn't_ a vampire until his father shook his head and Draco felt his legs turn to jelly at the sudden wave of relief.

He wondered if it was rude to show such relief in front of Severus, who everyone knew had Harry Potter as his charge, but right now, he couldn't bring himself to care.

He wasn't a vampire. He didn't know what he would do if he was Turned into one.

What was Potter  _thinking?_ Did he finally go berserk at the sight of human blood? Finally realized he couldn't stop his vampiric urges, never mind that Draco had just been bitten by a huge-ass snake? And where was Potter anyway?

Another horrible thought made itself known in his head. Was Potter even still alive? Or did he… Did he join the Dark Lord?

"Where's Potter?" he found himself blurting out.

Severus, apparently having expected that question to come next, replied curtly. "He's fine."

"He bit me," Draco continued on, feeling like it was an important thing to talk about. It  _was_ important, wasn't it? Very important. Why would Potter do it? If Potter was going be hungry for human blood from now on, he didn't want to be in the same dorm with him. And Potter  _bit him!_ Didn't that merit him some sort of punishment? Detention?

Severus nodded with all the patience he had in his body. "Yes, and you seem to be fine as well, Draco."

"But," Draco said, incredulous as to why his father wasn't throwing a fit yet and why this all seemed fine and dandy to Severus and the Headmaster of Hogwarts. "But he's biting  _people._ He's a…"  _He's a monster_ , he was about to say, but he wasn't sure whether he believed that completely.

Potter was a twat. An annoying twat. Who obviously had such bad taste that he chose to hang with Theodore Nott than Draco Malfoy during their first year. It still stung, but Draco didn't  _need_ Potter to be his friend anyway. Potter was also horrid at Potions, which was unbelievable, because  _he was the charge of Hogwarts' Potions Master._ (Well, this just proves that Severus doesn't play favorites.)

Potter was also a terrible example of a Slytherin, no ounce of self-preservation in his body, even though he had all the fame to abuse and the fear from other people to take advantage of.

But he wasn't a monster.

But he was biting people.

And drinking their blood.

Draco could feel his headache coming back.

Severus had his eyebrow raised, as if daring him to finish his sentence.

Draco sagged against his bed, suddenly remembering that he was actually very tired right now. "I still think he needs detention for this."

At first, Severus didn't react. But Draco could tell that Severus was satisfied that he didn't say what he was originally supposed to say. Finally, Severus nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Harry is… in detention right now, if that would make you feel better."

Not really.

Draco still felt like shit.

But at least Potter would think twice now before biting another person.

* * *

_Pain._

_And hunger._

_And thirst._

_But mostly blood._

_So much blood._

_Inside him, in his stomach, his mouth, dripping from his eyes._

_Outside, everywhere._

_So much blood but not_ enough.

* * *

Cedric Diggory was dead. Murdered by the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. The Wizarding World was in a state of confusion, with Dumbledore declaring that Voldemort was alive once again and Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, vehemently denying it. The Triwizard Tournament was finished and Harry Potter was crowned the Champion. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons left Hogwarts shortly after, and the summer holidays began.

Severus was updating Draco on what had transpired while he was asleep while Lucius and Dumbledore talked quietly a few feet away from them, when Narcissa burst into the room in a flurry of blond hair and white robes.

Soon, Draco was engulfed in the smell of flowers and expensive perfume.

_"Draco!"_ His name was murmured tearily against his hair, and Draco awkwardly hugged back. Despite Narcissa being away most of the time in whatever romantic country stroke her fancy, Draco knew that she was actually fiercely protective of him.

"Has Pomfrey already checked on you?" his mother asked, but did not let him go.

Draco adjusted his head on her chest so that he could speak. "Yes, mother. She said she needs to check on me for the next three days, but I seem to be well enough."

The embrace tightened. " _Good."_ A sigh of relief. And then, another murmured, "Good."

Narcissa finally pulled back, and touched lightly at the bandages around Draco's neck. "Does it hurt? Are there no aftereffects of Nagini's bite?"

_Nagini's bite?_ Did his mother not know…

Behind Narcissa, Draco caught his father's eye and the slow shake of his head.

He supposed his father decided not to tell her. His mother had always been very vocal about her hatred of vampires. She had actually stopped talking to Blaise's mother because of it, after she had dated one. She might actually file a criminal case in the Wizengamot if she knew that Harry Potter had bit her son. But why… Why would his father be protecting  _Harry Potter_?

"No, mother. It itches quite a bit, but that's all."

Narcissa nodded. "After this, I'm taking you to Paris with me."

Lucius' voice rose behind her warningly. "Narcissa, we've talked about this."

Narcissa whipped her head to look at him, chin rising up. "And I have not agreed."

_"Because you are not thinking,"_ Lucius hissed. "Voldemort will be looking for you and me. It's better that Draco is not with any of us."

"How will you ensure that he will be safe without us, Lucius?" Narcissa did not move from her position, but her voice was steel.

"Because he will be with me."

All heads turned to Severus, who leveled his gaze on them all, cool and firm. Lucius and Narcissa were both hardheaded, Draco supposed it came with being a pureblood and all its entitlement, but he also secretly believed that his godfather was more stubborn than both of his parents combined.

But this meant that he was going to be spending his summer with Severus? With  _Potter?_

"The Dark Lord will also be looking for you, Severus," Narcissa said. "Only the wards of Hogwarts is keeping him from spelling us all dead."

Severus' lip curled. "He has more pressing things to take care of than search for his little  _friends_ that turned their backs on him, I believe. I will be taking Draco somewhere Unplottable."

"And where is this?" Narcissa demanded.

Severus replied, unfazed. "The lesser that know, the better."

_"I am his mother."_

"Which means that you should be thinking of what's best for your son right now, instead of being deluded that you of all people will be enough to keep Voldemort from him," Severus hit back, venom dripping from his voice.

Draco winced at how harsh it sounded, and at the fact that all these adults were fighting about him. Severus and Narcissa arguing wasn't new to him, however. Narcissa hadn't really been discreet about her opinions about Severus' charge, and Severus had never taken it lying down.

"I do not think that Voldemort will occupy himself with young Draco here," Dumbledore mused, his calm and light voice cutting through the tension. He looked at Draco from above his glasses. "I ask that you not worry about that, my boy, but we must still exercise utmost caution. Also," he continued. "I believe it's best if we settle this argument elsewhere. Draco must be tired."

Which was just another way of saying that Draco wasn't supposed to know about the important stuff. Or any other stuff. Which was fine. Draco didn't want to know. All this talk about the Dark Lord going after him or his parents or his godfather,  _he didn't want to know._

_That is not any of your concern. Do not worry. Leave that to us,_ Dumbledore had said.

Let them argue about where Draco was going to stay this summer.

But he was  _not_ going to stay in the same house as someone that bit him.

* * *

After Madame Pomfrey had made sure that he wasn't feeling dizzy or nauseous anymore, he was allowed to roam around Hogwarts while the adults  _talked._ But there was no one inside the castle now, with everybody having gone home for summer.

Hagrid was probably in his hut. Filch was probably lurking somewhere. But Draco didn't really fancy seeing any of them right now, or ever.

Severus had said that Potter was here somewhere, in detention. He should have asked where. He wanted to demand why Potter was so uncivilized, so neanderthal, and know if his detention was enough for the itch in his neck. Madame Pomfrey said it wouldn't scar. Potter should hope it wouldn't, for his sake.

He found himself in the Slytherin Common Room, desperate for some familiarity and comfort. He half hoped that Potter would be there, but to his disappointment, only the empty couches greeted him when he entered.

It was weird, having the whole Common Room to himself. Draco always went home during holidays, so he didn't know how quiet it was without all the students. He wondered if Pansy and Blaise worried about him, because with no one around, Draco could admit that he worried about them.

That night in Little Hangleton… with all the Death Eaters present… He was sure that Mr. Parkinson had been there. So had the Crabbes and the Goyles. And Nott's father.

But the question was… Who was alive? Who wasn't?

Suddenly, the quiet of the Common Room became suffocating. Draco gritted his teeth, and turned, stomping his way back to the dungeons.

He knew that he was going to end up joining the Death Eaters one day. He didn't  _want_ to. But those were just things that you did for family, no questions asked. He knew that he was going to follow his father's foot steps, just like what Pansy would do. They didn't talk about it. They just knew and accepted that it was going to happen.

But Draco didn't…

He didn't know…

The Death Eaters just sounded like a club to him. Like a club full of rich, dark wizards that bought and sold illegal artifacts here and there, but… The Dark Lord wasn't in the plan.

The Dark Lord was vanquished, dead, never seen again ever since he had Turned Harry Potter and got himself poisoned by Potter's blood. So he didn't really think much of it when his father told him to help Potter with the gillyweed, make sure Potter stayed in the Tournament, come with him on the evening of the Third Task,  _wear this cloak, don't tell anyone_.

He didn't think that his father had actually believed that the Dark Lord would return, until… Until Little Hangleton.

What  _did_ his father believe? That there would be no half-rotten Dark Lord to meet him when his Dark Mark surged with pain? That it was okay to bring his son? That if the Dark Lord saw that the Malfoys were still ready to pledge allegiance to him, the Dark Lord wouldn't do anything to them?

The quiet of the castle was starting to get annoying. It was  _boring._ He needed something else to do to get his mind off these things.

He made his way to the Great Hall. He hoped Potter was there, scrubbing the floors.

He was itching for a fight.

* * *

Potter wasn't there.

The floors were scrubbed and shiny, but Draco didn't think they were done by Potter. The long tables were still filled with food, despite the castle being empty of its students, and Draco settled himself on the Slytherin table.

As he served himself some roast pudding and mashed potatoes, he wondered if he really needed to stay here for the next three days. If so, he needed to find something to do. Go flying? Get some advanced reading done for the next school year?  _Not think about the Dark Lord and his huge, murderous snake?_

Draco slammed his fist on the table, sighing heavily. He pushed the images of Little Hangleton at the back of his mind. Tombstones everywhere, figures in black, a tall, madman with gray, wrinkled skin and a flat face, something that wasn't human…

Draco hurried in eating his food.

He needed to find Potter.

All this quiet was killing him.

* * *

Severus found him before he could storm up to the Headmaster's office and demand where Potter was.

His godfather entered the Great Hall just as Draco was finishing his treacle tart.

"Where's mother and father?" Draco asked, upon seeing that Severus had come alone.

"Arguing," Severus replied shortly. He walked towards the Slytherin table. "They'll come to an agreement soon enough. Your mother will realize what the smart thing to do is, after she's done with all her… emotions." His lip curled in disgust.

"I don't want to stay with Potter," Draco said, frowning. He had always been more outspoken with Severus, because Severus never treated him like a child.

One of Severus' eyebrows raised, as if in disbelief that Draco had the gall to demand at times like this. "I expected you wouldn't, Draco, after what transpired. I have already taken that into account."

Draco didn't understand. "But you said I was going to stay with you."

"You are," Severus nodded.

"And Potter  _always_ stays with you."

Severus was silent for a moment. He regarded Draco with those hard eyes of his, as if mulling over what he was about to say first. "Harry will be staying with us. But worry not, Draco. I assure you you won't see him for the remainder of your summer vacation, if you wish it."

Draco was confused. And frustrated. He didn't want to stay with Potter, but that didn't mean he didn't want to see Potter anymore. And why was Severus allowing him with his selfish demands? Something wasn't right. This was the part where Severus was supposed to admonish him for being childish, say that it wouldn't  _kill_ him to live under the same roof as stupid Potter, but why were they treating him like… like he was something weak?

"Where's Potter right now?" Draco scowled.

Severus frowned right back at him. "In detention."

" _Where?"_

"I'm afraid I can't tell you."

"Why not? Just let me punch him once. Potter's too much of a weakling to bite me for a second time, I'm not  _scared."_

Severus' eyebrow remained raised. "I don't think it's wise to be threatening violence to another student in front of me, Draco, and nobody has said that you were  _scared_."

"I just want to know  _why_ he bit me." Then, a horrible thought crossed his mind, and he couldn't even stop himself from uttering his next words, "Is he… Is he working for…"

" _No,"_ Severus cut him off, glaring. "Harry is not working for Voldemort."

Draco winced at the name. It still made him uncomfortable to hear it.

"Then  _why?_ In that situation, why would he…" He trailed off, frustrated. He racked his brain for everything he knew about vampires. "Was it because he couldn't help it? I mean, I was… I was bleeding a lot…" He stopped, not wanting to imagine it again.

Deep inside, Draco knew that he was obsessing over this only as a way to distract himself from the bigger problems. The Dark Lord was alive, and he and his father had almost been murdered. He had almost  _died._ Thinking about Potter instead was something less stressful. At least he could  _blame_ Potter.

Above him, he heard Severus heave a sigh. He looked up, and saw something flicker in Severus' face. For a minute, Draco could see just how tired Severus looked, the darkness under his eyes, and the thinness of his face. But only for a minute. Draco had blinked and Severus looked the same as ever.

Draco knew at once that Severus had a Glamour Charm on.

"I was informed of what happened in Little Hangleton," Severus started, slowly. He seemed to be putting a lot of thought and care in his words. "Yes, you were bleeding a lot, because of Nagini."

Draco flinched again. He really didn't want to see the serpent again in his mind's eye.

"I don't believe Voldemort wanted for you to die, I believe he wanted…" Severus trailed off, pausing. "I believe he wanted to preserve you."

Draco felt a chill run down his body. He had already thought of a similar idea. He could still remember Voldemort's words.

_"I have not had a drink in such a long time."_

Severus saw that Draco understood. "If he wanted to kill you, he already would have. But he used Nagini instead, whose venom petrifies its enemies."

"I…" Draco started, before cutting himself off. He was surprised to realize that his mouth was suddenly dry. He reached for his goblet of water. "Nagini poisoned me."

Severus nodded. "The venom eventually loses its potency after a few weeks. But by then, your muscles would have started to atrophy, and your internal organs would stop to function. Enough time for Voldemort to… acquire what he wanted at his own leisurely pace."

Like preserving your favorite wine. Drinking it slowly to savor it until the very last drop.

Suddenly, the roast beef and the mashed potato felt very heavy in his stomach.

"So," Draco said, leaning on the table, one hand on his forehead. "Are you saying that… Potter  _saved_ me?"

"I suppose it might be more believable if you ask him yourself."

Draco scoffed. "I already believe it. It's much easier to believe than Potter working for the Dark Lord. I always had this suspicion that Potter acted like a stinking Gryffindor sometimes. It's absolutely disgraceful."

"I agree," Severus said flatly. Draco was almost amused. Severus complaining about his charge.

He drained what was left inside his goblet. "So? Where's Potter? I still want to punch him."

With another sigh, Severus turned to leave. "As I've said, he's… detained. You may fulfill your violent urges in a few more days. Until then, don't give Pomfrey any trouble."

* * *

In detention. Detained. Don't give Pomfrey any trouble.

If Draco thought about it, Potter was also pretty injured back in Little Hangleton, wasn't he? The last time Draco saw him, he had been tied to a gravestone with his arm dripping red with blood.

And Madame Pomfrey had admonished his father that morning, telling him not to disturb her other patients, but… There was no one else inside the Hospital Wing besides him when he woke up.

Draco returned to the Hospital Wing now, and as he expected, the Hospital Wing remained empty. Even Madame Pomfrey was nowhere to be found.

But Draco knew that Potter was here somewhere.

* * *

His legs were starting to cramp.

And he was starting to get hungry. Again. What time did he have dinner? It must have been six hours ago. Draco wasn't sure. He didn't want to cast a Tempus lest someone hear him.

He had been allowed to sleep back in his dorm on the condition that he go straight to Madame Pomfrey in the morning for her to check on him. His parents, after having agreed that Draco was to stay with Severus for the summer holidays, left after dinner with Professor Dumbledore on some… business, they called it.

Severus didn't go with them.

Draco guessed that he would probably go to Potter, because detention or not, Potter needed  _dinner_ , didn't he?

After his parents had left, he had rushed to the dorms, burst into Potter's room, and opened his chest. As he expected, the Invisibility Cloak lay inside all folded and pretty.

It was this that Draco pulled tighter around himself as he sat on the floor of the Hospital Wing. For the past few hours that he had sat there, no one had come and gone. No extra beds magically appeared. No hidden doors opened.

Draco was already starting to doubt that they were hiding Potter in here somewhere. He was hungry. And sleepy. And he couldn't feel his legs anymore. What a sorry state for a Malfoy to be in. Maybe he should go back to his dorm…

Just as he moved to stand, the doors to the Hospital Wing opened. Severus walked in, a shadow in the dark of the Infirmary. Only the moon served as light that illuminated his pale skin and crooked nose.

As quickly and as quietly as he could, Draco scrambled up to his feet and followed him, making sure to stay at least ten footsteps behind him. He was right to have cast muffling charms on his shoes earlier.

At the far end of the Hospital Wing, on the right side of the wall, was a small, white door that led to Madame Pomfrey's room. Severus knocked on this thrice.

The door opened, the yellow lamp light from inside filtering through the gap. Madame Pomfrey was still in her uniform, even though it must have been past midnight already.

"How is he?" Severus asked, his voice low and quiet.

Draco dared to step closer, just so he could hear better.

Madame Pomfrey shook her head. "Still hasn't eaten. I had the House Elves bring some food, but the boy claims he isn't hungry."

"Thirsty?"

Again, Madame Pomfrey shook her head. Her shoulders sagged tiredly. "He drinks it, but… It doesn't stay for long."

Was Potter… alright?

Did he have more injuries than that arm of his? As far as Draco could remember, it was  _him_ that had it worse, he was the one that Nagini bit, the one spluttering blood everywhere, and Potter had just been tied to a tombstone. Did something else happen to Potter after he passed out?

Draco fought the cold dread that wanted to take hold of his body.

He just wanted to know where Potter was. Wanted to give him a good scolding in the morning and possibly guilt-trip him into an even bigger debt, on top of that gillyweed. And he didn't like people keeping things from him, things he wanted to know.

He hurriedly moved backwards as Madame Pomfrey closed the door to her room.

Quietly, she and Severus walked to the other end of the wall, where a large tapestry of an apple tree was draped. The apple tree stood in the middle of a meadow, where rams and zebras grazed grass. From time to time, a snake would peek out of the dark leaves of the tree. Draco didn't really want to see it right now.

" _Apple pies and lemon puffs,"_ Madame Pomfrey said, and the tapestry slid upwards to reveal an arched entryway.

_There's_ the hidden door.

He hurried after them, sticking as close as he dared so as not to be stopped by the tapestry when it fell down again to close the entryway.

As soon as it did, Draco heard it.

The retching.

Like someone being tortured.

As they emerged from the entryway, Draco saw the room that they had just entered. It was square and spacious, but sparsely decorated. The walls were white, so were the messy covers on the bed in the middle of the room. There was a small bedside table where a tray of food was left untouched.

On the far side of the room was a white door, which Draco guessed was a bathroom, because he could hear the sound of water running, and…

Someone vomiting.

And then… there was a smell. Like metal. Like blood.

Draco saw Severus and Madame Pomfrey exchange grim expressions.

Slowly, Severus made his way towards the door and knocked. "Harry."

More retching.

Draco swallowed. Potter was  _not_ alright.

Severus tried again. "Harry." He reached for the knob, and slowly turned.

There was a sudden crash against the door.

Severus stepped back in surprise, before quickly procuring his wand. Draco saw Madame Pomfrey do the same.

" _No!"_

Potter's voice passed through the door, muffled and raspy.

"I can smell him. Don't open the door."

In an instant, Severus whipped around with his wand in the air and shouted, " _Petrificus Totalus!"_

Draco fell to the floor before he even knew what was happening. He hit his shoulder on the way down, and felt the Invisibility Cloak fall down his body, revealing him under Severus' glare and Madame Pomfrey's wide eyes.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

"And what,  _pray tell,"_ Severus sneered, his lips parting to reveal gritted teeth. "Are you doing here,  _Draco?_ "

Draco tried to open his mouth to answer, but realized he couldn't.

Severus pointed his wand at him again. " _Finite incantatem."_

Draco scrambled to his feet, gathering the Invisibility Cloak in his arms. He spoke, nervous and eyes wide, "I just… I just wanted to see Potter…"

Severus scowled at him. "And what would you have done after you had seen him?"

"Nothing!" Draco answered quickly, pressing the Cloak closer to his body, as if it might protect him from Severus' wrath. Draco hadn't seen Severus that mad since the Weasley twins charmed his hair into pink two years ago. The Weasley twins weren't seen around Hogwarts for a week.

Severus looked like he really wanted to cast another Full Body-Bind on him again, but another retching sound directed all of their attention back towards the door.

A few beats passed, with nobody moving as Potter continued on.

And then, Madame Pomfrey turned to him, crossing the distance between them in a few, steady steps, her expression hard and firm. "Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter dearly needs your help."

"Pomfrey!" Severus started, but Madame Pomfrey stopped him with a look.

"You know what Mr. Potter needs, Professor Snape."

Severus' jaw clenched. He looked like he still wanted to argue. Draco could actually see in his expression and in the lowering of his shoulders the moment he started to back down. "He wouldn't want it… forcibly taken."

"And it won't be," Madame Pomfrey said resolutely.

She turned back to Draco. "When Mr. Potter bit you, it was his first taste of human blood. Vampires usually only start to crave human blood when they reach the peak of puberty at the age of 18, but even then, it can be repressed. The thirst only becomes uncontrollable once they taste it and their body starts to seek it."

Draco didn't understand a damn thing that Madame Pomfrey was saying.

"His body's rejecting everything we give him, Mr. Malfoy. Even his own blood."

Draco stared at her. What was… What was she trying to say?

"He needs  _your_ blood."

Draco took a sudden step back at the shock. His feet slipped on the part of the Cloak that was still on the floor, and he landed on his buttocks, eyes bulging and mouth agape. He could feel the color drain from his face.

"But… W-Why  _my_ blood? He could…  _Any_ blood should be fine, right?!"

"Don't you think we've tried that?" Severus snapped, hand coming up to press hard on his temples. "He vomited it back out. A vampire's first human blood is special. It activates the dormant cells responsible for their appetite for blood, and it… changes the whole chemical balance of the body. Harry's going through the changes right now, and he needs…" He cut off, frustrated. "His body needs to calm down."

"Mr. Malfoy," Madame Pomfrey said, waiting until Draco's wide eyes was looking straight at her. "Mr. Potter saved your life. He only needs one vial of your blood. I promise it will not hurt."

Give his blood to a  _vampire?_ Vile creatures feasting on blood and sucking humans dry. They were as vile as werewolves, and Potter was…

Potter was on the other side of the door, had been for the past ten days, emptying his stomach again and again, even while Draco had been enjoying his treacle tart at lunch.

Stupid Potter. Stupid Gryffindor Potter.

So  _stupid_ that he would save Draco's life at  _this_ expense. Potter was the one who was supposed to owe him. Not the other fucking way around.

Draco gritted his teeth and closed his eyes shut. "Get it over with and make him shut up!"

He heard Madame Pomfrey's sigh of relief and felt the magic. Madame Pomfrey said it wouldn't hurt, and it didn't. Madame Pomfrey never lies. If it was going to hurt like a hippogriff trampling on you, she'll say that it was going to hurt like a hippogriff trampling on you.

When the tingling feeling of magic left his skin, he opened his eyes. There was a spot on the underside of his arm that was a little pink, and there was a vial filled with a dark, red liquid in Madame Pomfrey's hand.

That wasn't so bad. It wasn't bad at all. Now what would his mother think if she knew that Draco had willingly given his blood to a vampire?

She didn't need to know.

Madame Pomfrey passed the vial to Severus, who walked briskly towards the bathroom without a word.

The door opened. Draco had only a moment to glimpse what was inside, and it was red, everything was red, the walls, the floor, and  _the pungent smell_  – and then the door closed again, and it was only him and Madame Pomfrey in the room.

He felt another tingle of magic shimmer across his body.

"To help with the dizziness," Madame Pomfrey said in explanation. "I took a good amount of blood. That was very courageous of you, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco felt sick. Courageous. Slytherins didn't do courageous. And he certainly didn't give out his blood for anyone to take, much less a vampire, but… If it would stop those godawful sounds…

"Is he…" he started, slowly getting back to his feet. "Has he been like that since…"

Madame Pomfrey nodded grimly.

"Why…" Oh, there it was. The slight dizziness. But it was okay. It was bearable. Draco closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. When he opened his eyes, he looked at the door instead. "Why didn't you just take it from me while I was asleep?"

The retching had stopped. A quiet lulled in the room. Now, Draco could only hear soft heaves of breath from inside the bathroom.

Madame Pomfrey regarded him carefully. "Would you have wanted us to take it from you while you were asleep?"

Draco opened his mouth. And closed it again. Would it have been better? Not knowing that his blood had been taken and given to a vampire? He turned his eyes back to Madame Pomfrey. "No."

Madame Pomfrey nodded.

Her voice was quiet when she replied.

"Mr. Potter didn't want that as well."

**to be continued**


	6. Summer Holidays

 

It took Potter two more days to emerge from his room behind the tapestry, and Draco guessed it was only because it was the day they were supposed to go to wherever this Unplottable place of Severus was.

Unsurprisingly, Potter avoided eye-contact with him all throughout dinner. Which was fine. Draco pointedly ignored him as well. He still wasn't sure what to feel after having to give his blood to a vampire.

He still had other things to think about.

For the past two nights, his sleep had been wrecked with nightmares of graveyards and snakes, sucking all his blood until all that was left of him was a dry husk made of skin and bones. Sometimes the snake transformed into Potter. Most of the time it transformed into the Dark Lord.

It was terrifying how easy they were to interchange in his mind's eye.

In his other dreams, there would be green bursts of light from drawn wands, a shout of  _avada kedavra,_ and his father falling in front of him, dead and lifeless. Sometimes, he would see the Dark Mark on his arm.

He would wake up panting, raising his arm frantically to check, and being relieved time and again.

He had a lot of questions for his father. His parents dropped by every day to check on him and his health, but often had to go to the Headmaster's Office for whatever  _business_ they had with Professor Dumbledore.

His father wasn't in Azkaban, which meant that they weren't in trouble with the Ministry. Draco guessed that they were under Professor Dumbledore's protection right now, which he hoped was right. If there was anyone that can stop the Dark Lord, it would be Professor Dumbledore… right?

He wanted to write his friends, but he didn't know how to start his letter.  _Are your parents still alive?_ It scared him just to think about it. What if Mr. Parkinson had brought Pansy? What if the Crabbes and Goyles brought their sons?

Draco felt an already familiar anger and feeling of frustration well up in him. Why did his father bring him? An offering? What was his father  _thinking?_

 _No,_ Draco pushed the feelings down. His father fought for him. Lucius almost died going against the Dark Lord.

And  _that_ thought brought with it another kind of emotion, something more powerful, more heavy.

_Fear._

He hoped that whatever protection Professor Dumbledore had offered, it was enough to protect him and his family.

That was why when his father came to him and told him that his mother had finally agreed with Draco's living arrangements for the holidays, he had no more complaints to give.

He wanted to live.

Even if it meant living with a blood-sucking vampire.

* * *

His parents accompanied them when they went to Hogsmeade to Apparate. He and his parents kept a safe distance from Severus and Potter, and Draco knew it was because of his mother's distaste for vampires. She resolutely pretended that Potter did not exist and, as it had always been, Lucius and Draco just let her.

Potter was the first to be Apparated by Severus with Side-Along Apparition. Severus came back for him five minutes later.

Draco wished very, very hard that this Side-Along Apparition wasn't going to end up like his last one. His last one had been with his father, and Draco hadn't known about their destination.

Just like this.

He swallowed down his fear. He trusted Severus. He trusted that they were all against the Dark Lord now, and they were going somewhere safe.

As he held on to Severus' robes, he looked at his parents' faces. His father's face was as stoic as Draco expected it to be. His mother's was stiff. Draco could see she was still uncomfortable with this situation.

Like him.

He knew that they were just sending him away to keep him safe. That they were better off separated lest the Dark Lord use one of them as a bait to lure the others. He  _knew_.

But he was also terrified. He wanted his parents safe, too.

* * *

There were no graveyards and hooded figures in black.

Instead, there were warm, yellow lights from a chandelier above, cracked floorboards, creaking noises down the hall, and a woman shrieking profanities and expletives. Barely, Draco could make out  _blood traitors, filthy half-breed, scum of the Wizarding World._

"What  _is_ that infernal screaming?" he demanded, covering his ears with a wince.

Severus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like he was at the edge of his patience. "I shall be back shortly," he muttered.

As he disappeared down the hall, Draco let himself survey his surroundings.

He seemed to be inside an old, rickety house made of wood and misery. Every step he took made a creaking noise, as if the house was groaning under his weight.

Immediately, Draco longed for the marble steps and velvet carpets of the Malfoy Manor.

"Do try to hide your disgust, Draco," Severus chastised him, as he once again entered the room.

Draco noticed with a start that the screaming had stopped.

"It's your mother's ancestral home, after all."

Draco's eyes widened.

 _This_ was the Black's ancestral home? Then this was also…

"It is also yours," Severus added.

Draco wasn't sure whether to be grateful for that.

"The floor looks infested," he found himself saying instead. No wonder his mother never brought him here.

One corner of Severus' lips turned up into a dry smile. "I suppose. There's a mutt around here spreading his fleas."

A dog? Draco cringed. He wasn't good with dogs. He wasn't good with animals at all.

"Come," Severus said, walking towards a different hallway. "I shall show you to your room."

* * *

Walburga Black was his mother's aunt, Severus told him as they passed hallway after hallway and went up a flight of stairs. Her portrait hung on a wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm, and she despised having muggles and half-bloods in her home. Severus had apparently shut her portrait up with a myriad of Silencing spells, but Silencing spells often lose their effect after a few hours, so they would have to be re-applied from time to time.

"However," Severus said. "She was thrilled to know of your presence here."

Draco wasn't surprised. He was a pure-blood after all. He already guessed that it was probably Potter that she was raving on about.

They reached his room, the farthest one on the second floor, and he was at least relieved to see that the room had been spelled so that the walls and floors did not resemble the ones in the living room. The wood was scrubbed smooth and shiny, and Draco could see no holes. In the middle of the room was his bed with its frame made of black wood. Green curtains fell down the sides, and on the far wall was a Slytherin crest.

His chest that held his things was already at the foot of his bed, and he could already see some of his robes through the glass window of the dresser.

Draco was surprised that it lessened his discomfort in this unfamiliar place.

"Lunch shall be at noon. Dinner is at 6. If you want a snack, call for Kreacher."

On cue, a House Elf popped up in the corner near the dresser. He looked gnarly and sour, and his nose was longer than Severus', which Draco didn't think was possible. As he saw them, his mood seemed to perk up considerably, eyes becoming round. "Young master Malfoy!" he exclaimed, breathless.

At Draco's surprise, Severus said, "You  _are_ an heir to the Black family."

* * *

His room was flawless. Even his mattress was as soft as his own back in Malfoy Manor.

The only thing disturbing him now were the sounds coming from upstairs, loud thumps from time to time. Sometimes, he would hear footsteps.

He guessed that Potter's room might be upstairs. As for the loud thumps, Severus only had one word for them: "Mutts."

He said it with such distaste that Draco realized that maybe Severus also wasn't good with animals.

* * *

Kreacher called him for lunch. Lunch was roast beef, mashed potatoes, and steak-and-kidney pies. Kreacher did everything for him: pulled up his chair, served him food, filled his goblet. Much like his House Elves back in Malfoy Manor.

Draco swallowed his grape juice appreciatively.

Maybe staying here wouldn't be so bad.

There was only one more thing he needed to know.

"So," he started conversationally, slowly cutting his roast beef. He looked at Severus at the other side of the table, five chairs away. They were the only ones present. "Where's Potter?"

"In his room," Severus replied easily, already having expected the question. "He ate lunch ahead of us."

It was obvious Potter was avoiding him. He should. After having Draco give his blood like that. Even though it was only because Potter had to go and save his life.

Draco stabbed his beef a little too harshly. The fork made a horrible sound as it scraped the porcelain. He still wasn't done figuring out how he felt about that.

Maybe he'd have time to figure it out, if Potter would stop being such a wuss and face him. Maybe Draco really would feel better after a hex or two. He wouldn't do anything that would seriously  _hurt_ Potter.

And why was Potter the one avoiding  _him?_ It should be the other way around. Stupid Potter, did he think he was  _that_ special?

Severus cut through his jumbled thoughts. "Don't play with your food, Draco."

* * *

Draco started on his summer homework during the time in between lunch and dinner. He didn't know what else to do. He didn't want to be alone with his thoughts about the graveyard. He had enough of that in his dreams already.

He had done some exploring of the house, but most of it were just old, dusty rooms with cobwebs and spiders.

He wondered why the house was so unkempt. Did the house not have other House Elves? Was Kreacher the only one? Who lived here anyway? He found it hard to believe that Severus was the keeper of this house. Maybe Dumbledore? Some sort of hide-out?

In one room, he had found a tapestry of the Black family tree. He had outlined some of the names, and had been pleased to see his name and his face at the bottom. His face in the tapestry had flashed him a winning smile, the one he used to make adults like him.

His mother was there. As were his aunts, Bellatrix and Andromeda. However, Andromeda's portrait had been scorched black, just like the portrait of… Sirius Black, the notorious murderer who had betrayed the Potters, leading to their death under the Dark Lord's hands.

Did Potter know about that?

The only ones left to inherit the house now was his mother and… him. Unless Bellatrix Lestrange and Sirius Black miraculously escaped Azkaban.

He didn't want to think about that.

He had wandered upstairs, bracing himself should he bump into Potter, but he didn't see a wink of him the whole time. The third floor was a maze of hallways and rooms, and Draco hadn't been able to keep count of how many rooms they were. He didn't even try with the fourth floor.

He had walked back to his room, but was surprised to find that the rooms he had seen to be dusty just a few minutes before were now squeaky clean. Kreacher must have cleaned them.

Now, Draco was almost a quarter done with his homework, and he worried what he was going to have to occupy himself with once he had finished it all.

* * *

"When is Potter going to show up?" Draco asked irritably during dinner. "He's going to have to stop this farce at one point, or does he plan on avoiding me for the rest of the summer?"

"I believe he plans just that," Severus said. He wasn't even trying to deny it, anymore.

"Tell him to stop acting like a kicked puppy.  _I'm_ the one who was bitten," Draco muttered, and looked away at Severus' pointed glare.

"If you  _really_ must see him," Severus said, sighing heavily. "Tell Kreacher to bring you to the Quidditch pitch at 10 o'clock tomorrow."

Draco brightened up. "There's a Quidditch pitch?"

"Yes. And I will  _not_ tolerate roughhousing."

* * *

That night gave him a particularly bad dream.

He had clutched his blanket to his chest, fervently trying to convince himself that his parents were safe and that his nightmare wasn't true.

* * *

Needless to say, he emerged into the Quidditch pitch with his Nimbus 2001 and a sour mood.

He wasn't even sure how there was a Quidditch pitch in this place. He should ask Severus later. Or Kreacher. Kreacher seemed to be more indulgent in divulging important things.

But true to Severus' word, there was Potter, flying like he owned the place. Like he'd been flying since he learned how to walk and just lied about not being good at it in all of their flying lessons with Madame Hooch.

 _Not good at it, my arse,_ Draco thought, angry at how he was still impressed at Potter's maneuvers during the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Draco saw the exact moment that Potter realized his presence, because Potter had abruptly stopped in mid-air, almost falling off his broom, and looked like he'd just been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

Maybe it was because of the lack of sleep or all his overthinking or Potter ignoring him, but Draco had had enough.

"Wipe that ridiculous look off your face, Potter, and get down here!"

He wasn't sure if Potter heard him from that height, but Potter slowly hovered downwards, until he jumped off his broom a few feet away from Draco.

Draco waited.

Potter just stood there awkwardly.

Draco tapped his foot.

Potter looked up at him, a confused expression on his face.

Draco scowled, and let out the tantrum that he had been suppressing for the past days. He stomped forward, each stomp punctuated with a word, until he was close enough to reach Potter's collar and pull him close.

"Why. Are. You. Avoiding. Me?!"

Potter winced and looked up, anywhere but Draco's eyes. "Well," he mumbled. "For starters, I sucked your blood."

"Yeah, shite," Draco scoffed, now pushing him away. "My neck is taking  _eternity_ to heal," he said, lying.

"In my defense, that's probably Nagini's fault," Potter replied, grumbling under his breath.

Draco scowled. "So? Why did you do it?"

Potter finally,  _finally_ turned to look at him, with an incredulous look that quickly turned into a glare. "Are you serious, Malfoy?  _Why_ wouldn't I do it?"

"I don't know!" Draco sighed exasperatedly. "I don't really go around thinking about biting people, so you tell me!"

Potter looked offended. Good. "I don't either! It just so happened that you had to go and get yourself poisoned by a snake. And of all the snakes, it had to be Voldemort's!"

Draco winced. "Don't say that name."

Potter rolled his eyes. "It hardly matters now, does it? He's still gone and resurrected himself no matter if I call him Voldemort or the Dark Lord or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I mean,  _I_ certainly don't get more powerful every time someone calls  _me_ a Dark Lord."

Draco scowled, then remembered that this wasn't what they were supposed to be fighting about.

What  _were_ they supposed to be fighting about?

Draco wasn't sure. He was starting to get a migraine.

"I'll have you know, Potter, I don't want you going around thinking that  _I_ owe you anything. You still owe me for that gillyweed and that detention." Draco huffed, conveniently omitting the fact that it was his father that told him to give Potter the gillyweed in compliance with some Dark plan that Draco had yet to ask about.

Thinking about his father and his stupid Dark plans suddenly made him even more irritated.

"Are you saying saving your life wasn't enough for that gillyweed?" Potter asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I also gave you my blood after," Draco muttered.

Ah, this time Potter looked hurt.

Draco was surprised.

He was surprised at Potter's reaction, and surprised at how  _he_ felt about it. He was actually… disturbed. And uncomfortable. That Potter looked hurt. Was it something he said?

"I didn't ask for it," Potter said, clenching his fist. He was looking away again, and just when Draco had finally got Potter to look at him.

"Why wouldn't you ask for it?" Draco mumbled awkwardly. His anger had dissipated the moment Potter showed him that expression. To be honest, Draco was pretty sure it really wasn't Potter he was angry at.

But Potter was there, and his father and the Dark Lord weren't.

"I mean," he continued. "You seemed to need it pretty badly."

Apparently, it was easy to get Potter to look at him again. Potter whipped his head up to glare at him. "I already told you, Malfoy, just because I'm a vampire doesn't mean I go around fantasizing about sucking other people's blood. I… I'm not… I'm not a monster."

 _Ah,_ Draco realized, as he looked at Potter's hunched shoulders and wounded expression. Now it all made sense. Potter was surprisingly sensitive about this. Draco didn't know what to do with this information.

"Teach me the Corkscrew Dive," he said, instead. Awkwardly. "And I'll let you off the gillyweed."

"I didn't ask for the gillyweed either, you git," Potter muttered, but said, "Only if you teach me the Wronski Feint."

* * *

Draco was considerably less irritable after that.

But he still didn't make Potter's life easier. Two hours and two very sweaty and grass-stained boys later, it was time for lunch.

Draco cleared his throat and said loudly, "Finally decided to grace us with your presence, O Great Vampire Dark Lord?"

In the middle of the long dining table sat Potter, who turned pink and glared at him.

"Shut it, Malfoy."

Severus ignored them.

But Draco thought that he looked considerably more relaxed than he had been at breakfast.

* * *

Flying became a routine.

10 o'clock sharp at the Quidditch pitch, and then they'd go to the dining room together for lunch.

Draco quickly learned the Corkscrew Dive and Potter did the same with the Wronski Feint. So they moved on to another maneuvers to exchange.

Sometimes, they'd release a snitch. So far, the score was 5-7, in favor of Potter.

Draco was immensely sour about this.

* * *

The nightmares got better and less troublesome, but they didn't really go away. It was hard to feel assured when you weren't allowed to Owl or Floo-call your mother and father. Severus assured him that they were fine and that they were in constant correspondence with each other, which just irritated Draco all the more, because if Severus could talk to them, then why couldn't he?

On a particularly rough night, Draco woke up in cold sweat. A quick Tempus told him it was 2 o'clock in the morning. The dream had been so vivid, and Nagini was so real, and the green bursts of light flashed behind his eyelids every time he tried to close them.

 _You're fine,_ Draco repeated in his head, hand coming up to rest on his neck, which was as clear and smooth as it had always been. The wound had closed up nicely with the help of Madame Pomfrey's salve. Again, Madame Pomfrey didn't lie. The bite really did not scar.

But he knew he wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep for a while.

With a grumble, Draco pushed his blankets off him, put on his slippers, and went downstairs to ask Kreacher for a mug of hot chocolate.

What greeted him was the sight of Harry Potter in the living room with a blanket around his shoulders and his own mug of chocolate in hand.

Potter looked as surprised as he was. And just as tired. His eyes were sunken and bloodshot.

Draco realized that he wasn't the only one having nightmares.

* * *

Draco also realized that night that Potter was horrid at Wizard's Chess.

* * *

They didn't fly the next morning. They were both sound asleep in their respective rooms by the time 10 o'clock rolled in.

But the score was 3-0, in favor of Draco, and Draco slumbered peacefully.

* * *

Potter stopped avoiding him. And Draco stopped bringing up the whole blood sucking thing every time they met each other. It was getting boring, anyway.

And Draco found that he had started to enjoy Potter's company. It was much better than moping around alone with his thoughts.

Instead, they did their summer homework together. Kreacher brought them cookies every time, and they always bickered over the last one. They also spent more time flying, not just in the morning. 5-7 became 16-19. They would release bludgers as well, to provide a challenge, but it was still in favor of Potter, the annoying git.

Draco learned that Potter had a disgusting appetite for treacle tart.

It was on the second week, while Potter was stuffing his face with the tart and Severus had already excused himself from the dinner table, that Draco finally asked. He tried to act nonchalant about it.

"Is Severus telling you anything?"

Potter looked at him, and Draco knew that Potter understood what he was talking about.

Potter swallowed, and then shook his head. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Severus doesn't tell me anything. He never does."

At Draco's prolonged stare, Potter shrugged. "I'm telling the truth. Remember back in second year with the whole Heir of Slytherin thing?"

Draco did. "I remember being insulted that people thought  _you_ were the Heir of Slytherin, and not  _me."_

Potter gave him a dry look. "Well, vampire and apparent Dark Wizard here. What have you got to offer?"

"Charming good looks and a brilliant personality."

Potter snorted. "The Heir of Slytherin needs to be dark and mysterious, Malfoy, not Gilderoy Lockhart. Anyway, I tried to ask, but Severus just told me to stay vigilant and out of it. Didn't tell me anything about what the professors were thinking or planning."

Draco sighed, accepting that he wasn't going to get any information out of Potter after all. "Aren't you  _curious,_ Potter?"

"Of course I am," Potter said, glaring. "I was there, Malfoy. Before you arrived. I saw…" Then, he looked away, and Draco could almost hear the words unsaid.

_I saw Voldemort rise. I saw Cedric die._

"But that's why you're here, I think," Potter said instead, quietly. The mood in the room had dimmed. Maybe this was why they didn't talk about this. "I think Voldemort is looking for your parents, because they betrayed him. He'll use you against them if he can. That's why you need to hide."

Draco felt a chill run through his body. His blood felt cold. It was one thing to think about it. It was another to have it said out in the open. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Then why aren't they hiding here with me, Potter? I don't even know where they are!"

"I…" Potter looked down at his lap. "Sorry."

Draco grit his teeth. It wasn't Potter he was angry at. Right now, it was Severus. He needed to talk to Severus.

He sighed loudly. "Pass me that last treacle tart, would you?"

* * *

After devouring that disgustingly sweet treacle tart, Draco marched up to Severus' room. It was more of a laboratory than a room, with all the scattered parchment and bottles of dubious animal body parts lying around the room. An area of the room was even cleared to make way for a boiling cauldron.

Severus raised a warning eyebrow at Draco's sudden entrance.

Draco brushed it off, long used to Severus' expressions that usually scared all children away. Not Draco. He'd been with Severus long enough to know when he was  _really_ mad.

"How long do we have to stay imprisoned here?"

Severus' eyebrow remained raised. "You are hardly imprisoned, Draco."

"Detained. Locked up. Forbidden to leave. Can't even Owl my friends or Floo-call my parents. And I need to shop for a new cauldron in Diagon Alley," Draco said, determined to stand his ground.

Severus regarded him for a few moments in silence.

Then, Severus sighed. "I had forgotten how restless teenagers could be," he muttered. (He realized that it was because Harry never complained about having to stay inside.  _Or he was raised not to_ , he thought with a pang of guilt.)

"I suppose I should be grateful that you managed two weeks here thus far," he continued thoughtfully. Then, he said, "In another week, if all goes well… We'll have a short visit to Hogwarts to meet with Lucius and Narcissa."

Draco's eyes brightened.  _Finally!_ That was progress. He only had one more thing left bothering him. "Mother and father," he started, unsure. He was almost scared of the answer. He knew that nothing dire had happened to them, if Severus' calm demeanor was anything to judge by. But he didn't know what they were doing. What they were fighting against.

"Are they alright?"

At that, Severus' expression softened. By a very small fraction.

"Yes, and I believe they miss you dearly," he said, and then his face turned sour. "Albus informed me that Narcissa has been trying to send me Howlers."

Draco grinned. His mother was fine, alright.

* * *

The week passed by in a flash. Their summer homework was done, and Draco finally managed to get their Quidditch score to 29-28. (Potter deliberately took the last piece of pie that night, out of spite.) Their Wizard's Chess score became 8-0. Draco didn't know why Potter still tried.

Often times, Draco would still hear loud thumps upstairs. He never did see the dog that Severus had talked about, but he hated animals anyway, so he didn't really look for it.

On the day that they were to go to Hogwarts, Draco entered the living room, dressed in trousers, robes, and boots, to see Potter in his pajamas. He was playing Wizard's Chess with Kreacher. Kreacher was muttering things about needing to clean and Master Potter keeping him from his job, but he was actually doing a fine job obliterating Potter's pieces.

Not that it was hard to do, Draco supposed. Potter really was horrid at Wizard's Chess.

"You're not coming?" Draco asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. He immediately felt embarrassed. It almost sounded like… he wanted Potter to go with him.

Potter looked just as surprised at his question. "I don't have anything to do there, Malfoy."

That was true, but… He could accompany Draco. That was something he could do.

But that was too embarrassing to say. Instead, Draco just tried to shrug, as if he couldn't care less whether Potter stayed or not.

"Alright. See you later, Potter."

* * *

The Dark Lord is in hiding. Trying to recuperate and gather back his followers. Cornelius Fudge still turned a blind, denying eye. Lucius and Narcissa were both fine, and Dumbledore had an unhealthy, disgusting obsession with lemon tarts.

That was all his parents told him when Dumbledore and Severus both left them to discuss other matters, as well as give their family time together. They didn't tell him what they were doing with Dumbledore. His father had given him a firm stare, and Draco knew to shut up. It was just like all those business with the Death Eaters. Draco knew something was going on, but he was never supposed to ask.

What he was grateful for, however, was the fact that it seemed like his parents didn't have anything to worry about anymore under Dumbledore's protection. Maybe the Dark Lord would forget about them. After all, he had more important things to think about. And they could all go back to living their lives and letting the Aurors handle it.

But then Draco had to go and ask.

"When can I go back to the Manor with you?"

And it was in Lucius' hesitation and Narcissa's thinly-pressed lips that Draco realized. Why Draco was staying in that Unplottable place. Why they had to meet in Hogwarts and not in Malfoy Manor instead.

His voice, when he asked his next question, sounded foreign to him. The words sounded like they hadn't come from his mouth. "You haven't been home at all… have you?"

Narcissa closed her eyes, and said quietly, "The Manor. He's there."

* * *

Draco was quiet when they arrived back in the Black ancestral home. Severus had taken him via Side-Along Apparition once more. He felt like he was in a trance. Like he wasn't really living this reality. Dimly, Draco noticed that Potter was in the living room, sitting on the couch, in the same place he had been when they left. He was in his usual day clothes, soft trousers and a shirt, and he was reading a book.

When Draco came back to himself, he turned his head to look at Severus, and he realized that Severus had been looking at him this whole time. Warily.

Draco was too old for tantrums. He now knew how serious this all was.

He looked at his godfather straight in the eyes. "The reason why you can't bring them here with me…" He trailed off, eyes widening as realization dawned on him. The words left his lips slowly. "You don't trust them… do you?"

Severus observed him for a few moments more. And then, he said, "No, I do not."

At the corner of his eye, Draco noticed Potter tucking away his book and watching them.

That did not stop him from saying, with a slight tremble: "Then why should I trust you?"

The corner of Severus' lips quirked up, but the humor did not reach his eyes.

"In these dark times, Draco… You would do well not to trust anyone."

* * *

"Malfoy… Malfoy!  _MALFOY!"_

Draco snapped out of his stupor, at the same time Potter swerved in front of him and smacked a bludger away with his arm guard.

Potter rounded in on him with a glare. "That was the second time, Malfoy! Severus will  _kill_ me if I tell him you got a concussion!"

Draco blinked, as if just realizing that he was in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, ten feet in the air. In the distance, he could hear a faint buzzing, the telltale sign of the Snitch. Two bludgers zoomed aimlessly around the field.

At his dumbfounded expression, Potter's softened. He sighed. "If you're not up for it, it's fine. We can go back down. You've been out of it since breakfast."

Draco shook his head, frustrated at himself. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep last night, kept awake by thoughts of a madman in his home and a snake slithering in his room. His home. His family's home.

The Dark Lord sitting at the head of the dining table, his mangled fingers holding a shining goblet. His bloodied feet staining the marble floor. Their grandiose ballroom, covered with diamonds and chandeliers, now smothered in darkness and littered with murderers.

Where do they go home now? Where can they  _hide_ now?

He turned to Potter and grabbed his arm suddenly. "Do you also think my father is still working for the Dark Lord?"

Potter looked at him, startled at his question. Startled by the seriousness of his question. His eyes shifted away. "I… don't think your father is working for the Dark Lord anymore."

There was a  _but._ Draco could almost hear it.

It made him even more frustrated. And angry.

"But you don't trust them either, do you, Potter?" he snarled, shoving Potter away. His eyes felt dangerously hot. And wet.

He swerved his broom, intent on going away as far as possible and possibly Incendio-ing the whole stupid Black house, ignoring Potter's frantic calls of "Malfoy! Malfoy, stop!  _DRACO_ – _"_

There was a sickening thud that resounded in the pitch.

Draco looked back just in time to see Potter fall off his broom and drop ten feet to the ground.

* * *

"When do you plan on ceasing your incessant moping, Draco?" Severus asked quietly afterwards, but he didn't sound angry. Which Draco didn't understand. He should be angry. He shouldn't be so calm like that, standing in the doorway of Draco's room, where Draco had holed himself up in ever since he had banged on Severus' room. Behind him had been a levitating Potter with a bleeding head.

Severus had cursed loudly, yelled at him to levitate Potter to the bed, Disapparated, and Apparated with Madame Pomfrey in a few, excruciating heartbeats. Madame Pomfrey had shooed him outside after that. He had retreated to his room and hadn't come out since, even when Kreacher called him for dinner.

His stomach growled in complaint, but he was scared to go out of the room. Scared that if he went out now, he would face the reality that Potter got his head hit by a bludger and it was all because Draco was being immature and venting out his anger on him and now Potter may not even be –

"Harry is fine," Severus informed him, after several moments of silence where Draco did not move from his position, sitting with his knees to his chest, on the bed.

However, with Severus' announcement, Draco's head raised a bit.

Severus continued. "He's awake and eating himself sick with those favorite tart of his."

Draco kept silent.

"And he's looking for you."

Draco winced. "Is he… Is he mad?"

It wouldn't be a surprise.

Severus shrugged. "Quite the contrary. He wanted to know if the bludger hit you, too."

Draco snorted weakly. "Tell him he's worse than a Gryffindor. He's a Hufflepuff."

"Tell him that yourself," Severus said, moving to leave the room. Before he closed the door, he looked back over his shoulder. "Harry's expecting you."

* * *

Draco didn't leave his room. What was he supposed to say if he went to Potter's? Sorry you almost died because I was such an arse? No, he didn't know if he could say that. He  _should._ But… Malfoys didn't apologize. He could. He really  _should._ But…

Draco sighed heavily, burying his face against his knees. He was ashamed to talk to Potter. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear the sickening sound as the bludger made contact with bone…

A knock disturbed his thoughts.

"Malfoy?"

Draco froze. It was Potter. His heart hammered loudly in his chest.

There was a sigh from the other side of the door. "Malfoy, I'm coming in."

Before Draco could grab his wand and spell his door closed, Potter opened the door, letting the light from the hallway spill into the room.

It was dark. Draco couldn't really see Potter's face very well. He hadn't bothered to light the lamps. But Potter looked… like nothing had happened. No wounds. No bandages. He was even holding a tart in one hand.

With his other hand, Potter lit the lamps.

Now, Draco could see that the left side of his forehead was a bit pink. But that was all.

"Severus said you didn't eat dinner," Potter said, sitting himself comfortably on the foot of Draco's bed. He held out the tart.

Trust Potter to equate dinner with treacle tart.

Draco took it grudgingly.

"Have you been crying?"

Draco's response was immediate. He raised his head and glared. "Absolutely not."

To his surprise, Potter laughed. Actually  _laughed._

Dumbfounded, Draco asked, "What's so funny?"

"No," Potter shook his head, still chuckling. "No, sorry. I just… Deja vu." Then, he looked down, smiled a small smile, before shaking his head again. He looked back at Draco. "Severus says you saved me."

Draco made a confused noise. " _You_ saved me from the bludger, Potter. Did your head get hit too hard?"

"Yes, but I vaguely remember falling off my broom, but not hitting the ground. I wonder whose fault is that," Potter replied patiently.

"Can't really trust the memory of someone who just suffered a concussion," Draco muttered, biting off a big piece from his tart. "I just Levitated you. Almost gave me a fucking heart attack."

"I'd say that counts as saving my life," Potter said amicably. "So maybe you can get out of your room now and stop moping?"

"I am not moping!" Draco said through a mouthful of tart. Then, he remembered his manners. He wiped his mouth with the back of a finger with a huff. "Anyway, is your head okay? Severus might think it's my fault if you get a Dreadful in Potions next year."

"I get by with an Acceptable, thank you very much," Potter muttered in reply. "I'm fine. I have this belief that if there's anyone that can beat Voldemort, it will probably be Madame Pomfrey. Also, I heal very fast. It's another one of my  _vampire abilities."_

Then, he smiled again, as if there was a joke in there somewhere that Draco didn't know.

Draco sighed. "Yeah, well, you wouldn't have needed to heal if it weren't because of me." Then, he cringed for what he was about to say, "So I guess… I'm… Err…"

Potter stood up and rolled his eyes, but the smile remained on his face. "Apology accepted, Malfoy. Now get up and let's eat dinner. Kreacher's sick with worry about his beloved  _Master Draco._ "

* * *

The next day at breakfast, Draco asked, "Won't I get a sanction from the Ministry for the Levitation Charm I used on Potter?"

Severus continued to eat his breakfast without looking up. "It's been resolved by your father. And the Ministry right now will not bother with such a small infraction. They're currently… busy with other things."

Draco met Potter's eyes at that.

But they knew not to ask and continued to eat their meal in silence.

* * *

"What do you suppose Severus meant?" Draco asked, as they huddled together in Potter's room.

They were already in their Quidditch gear: arm guards, leg guards, and lightweight robes and boots. Their Nimbus 2001s leaned idly against the wall near the door.

"Well," Potter shifted nervously. Then he paused, as if perusing a thought, before coming to a decision. He walked to the door and made sure it was closed shut. He turned back to Draco. "The Ministry of Magic's trying all they can to disprove that Voldemort's back. The Daily Prophet has propaganda against Headmaster Dumbledore all over it. If we weren't there in Little Hangleton, it would actually be pretty believable."

His voice became quieter at the end, but Draco didn't blame him. They both didn't like to talk about Little Hangleton.

"My father told me about it when I visited Hogwarts. That Fudge's probably pretending that he's got everything under control." Then, a certain detail caught his attention. "You've been reading the Daily Prophet? How does the Daily Prophet get delivered here?"

Potter's expression turned sheepish.

Draco found himself stepping closer in Potter's personal space. "Spill it, Potter."

Draco barely saw the way Potter inhaled and the way his eyes widened in surprise, before Potter's hands were immediately on his shoulders and pushing him back.

Potter must not be one for physical proximity, Draoc thought, but he was surprised at how tight the grip on his shoulders was.

Then, as if realizing what he had just done, Potter quickly let go of him and flushed red. He mumbled an apology, before coughing. "Err – I've been sneaking in Severus' room at night with the Invisibility Cloak. He leaves the Daily Prophet on his desk. I think he Apparates somewhere before breakfast every morning to get it."

Draco's mouth formed an 'o'. A few seconds passed, and he quickly shut his mouth, because it was unbecoming of a Malfoy to be seen with such an expression. However, when he composed himself, he was looking at Potter in a new light. "Very impressive. I don't know if I can call that very brave or very suicidal."

"It's a tried and tested trick," Potter said defensively.

Draco found himself grinning.

Potter, at first, looked surprised at Draco's reaction, but then slowly allowed himself to grin back. "I was thinking if it would help if I testified what I saw there, but…"

"But Fudge will just also turn on you. He might even use it against Dumbledore, say that he's brainwashing his students in Hogwarts," Draco finished for him.

Potter nodded in agreement. It was a very Slytherin way of thinking. It was good that he and Draco were well-versed in that. "I'll let you know if there's anything new, or if there's anything that can help you and your family."

Draco was startled at the offer. He blinked, before slowly nodding. "Much appreciated, Potter."

Potter nodded back, looking away in embarrassment. "Well, let's go then?" He nudged his chin towards their broomsticks.

Draco walked over, got his own, and passed Potter's to him. Before opening the door, however, he looked back over the shoulder and asked, awkwardly, "Are you sure you're…?"

He wasn't prepared for the small smile that Potter gave him in reply. "Yes, I am, Malfoy. Remember.  _Vampire abilities_."

* * *

Potter wasn't fine.

Potter was avoiding him again.

Didn't talk or look at him through dinner. Didn't talk or look at him through breakfast the next day.

Potter actually had the nerve to skip their flying time together. Just had Kreacher pop up in Draco's room to tell him without even having the courage to say it himself. Kreacher had muttered something about filthy blood, but Draco waved it off as those moments that Kreacher would go into those fits of his and start sounding like Walburga Black.

On a usual day, Draco would just ignore it. Pansy had tried to give him the cold shoulder a lot during their first year, but she never could last longer than a day, especially if Draco gave her the cold shoulder back. If she was going to be petty about it, Draco could be pettier.

The same goes with Potter. What  _nerve_ did Potter have to avoid him  _again,_ anyway? They were fine just yesterday. Was it something Draco said? Did his umpteenth jibe about Potter's hair finally hit a sensitive mark?

That still doesn't justify  _ignoring_ Draco Malfoy,  _of all people._

As soon as Kreacher disappeared with a pop, Draco stomped upstairs to Potter's room.

* * *

The first thing that told him that there was something wrong was the retching.

It was the same sound that Draco had heard back in the Hospital Wing, when he had snuck behind Severus' back to enter Potter's hidden room.

And then, when he opened the door, the smell.

The smell of copper and iron.

Blood.

Without even thinking about it, he stomped over to the bathroom and wretched open the door.

He wasn't prepared for what he saw.

Red. Red everywhere. In the bathtub. All over the floor. Smeared on the walls. Smeared on the sides of the tub. And in the middle of the room… Potter lay sprawled on the floor, one arm slung over the side of the tub. Blood dripped down his nose and mouth, staining his clothes, arms, and legs. When he saw Draco, his eyes widened with fear, and he pressed his hands over the lower half of his face as he crawled backwards, wedging himself in between the tub and the toilet.

" _Go away, Malfoy_ –" His voice was raspy and strained, which Draco belatedly guessed was probably because of his prolonged retching.

Draco covered his nose as well and closed his eyes. He felt like vomiting. "Potter, I need to call…" His voice broke off, as panic started to take hold of him. What was he supposed to do?!

Potter was shaking his head furiously now, still trying to press himself deeper into the corner futilely. He sounded like he was… gagging. " _Malfoy, get out_ –  _now_ –" A wheeze.

When Potter looked up, Draco saw his eyes. Unfocused, glassy, and green. Bright green.

And then he was hauled backwards and the door was slammed shut.

He was thrown against the floor, and he yelped in pain as he made contact with the wood, but could only stare in shock at Severus' panting figure standing over him.

 _"You fool!"_ Severus bellowed, and this was it. This was one of the moments that Draco knew that Severus was really angry. No, not just angry. He was  _livid._

Draco was rambling, in panic, in terror. " _Potter, he_ –"

Severus clicked his tongue angrily, before grabbing the front of Draco's robes and hauling him upwards with effort. "You need to get out, Draco," he muttered darkly. "Harry can smell your blood, and it's not making things easier for him."

"But –" Draco didn't know  _but._ He wasn't making sense of anything. There was just… so much blood and Potter was bleeding –

" _Draco!"_

Draco snapped his head to look at Severus.

Severus was making a very pained expression. "Harry  _needs_ your blood. He is looking for your blood. I need you to make a very important decision, Draco. I apologize if this is sudden. I did not expect… We did not…" Then, Severus cut himself off, aware that he was wasting time with his rambling. He looked straight in Draco's eyes. "You can either leave this room and I will not take any blood from you. I will respect your choice. Or…" At this, he looked straight in Draco's eyes. "You can give Harry what he needs."

And it was easy.

It was frightening how easy it was to make the decision.

Draco wasn't a Gryffindor. He didn't go around saving people or helping people for free. Nor did he go around giving out his blood. Twice. Most especially to vampires. But this was Potter. Vampire or not, Potter was… dare he say, his  _friend._

He could admit that he considered them as friends now after all those flying lessons and those midnight rendezvouses in the living room with both of them carrying bloodshot eyes and haunted looks from nightmares unspoken of. All those afternoons spent comparing their summer homework and hushed whispers about what was going on in the Wizarding World with Voldemort back on the rise. All that time spent fighting over the last scoop of mashed potatoes.

And Potter saved his life. Twice.

But even without all that, surviving through Little Hangleton together was enough.

Draco closed his eyes shut and held out his arm. "Just get it!"

And then he heard a loud sigh of relief, before he felt the magic wrap around his arm. It felt weird, like having a single stream of liquid pass through the skin of your arm, but it was over as soon as it began.

Draco opened his eyes, but Severus was already marching inside the bathroom, a vial of blood in his hand. He must have already had the empty vial ready.

Draco closed his eyes again at the sight of the bloodied floor.

Vaguely, he could hear Potter resisting.

" _No!"_

"Draco agreed, Harry."

" _But_ –"

" _Drink!_ "

And then quiet.

Draco suddenly felt dizzy.

He wasn't sure if it was because of the sudden loss of blood or the accumulated stress of everything that he had seen in the bathroom. Nevertheless, his feet led him to Potter's bed just in time for his knees to buckle under him and for him to lose consciousness.

* * *

He woke up to Severus entering the room. The smell of Potter told him that he was still lying on Potter's bed, in Potter's room. But Potter was nowhere in sight. He groaned, sitting up, and accepted the vial Severus offered him.

"Blood-Replenishing Potion," Severus explained.

Draco swallowed it without preamble. Even without Severus telling him what it was, he trusted and revered Severus enough as a Potioneer that he would drink whatever the man gave him.

"What happened?"

"You passed out. Harry drank your blood and was righted in no time." Severus paused, making sure that Draco turned to look at him in question, before saying, "You did a very brave thing, Draco."

Draco colored, unused to being praised like that. He was used to being praised for his grades, flying skills, even his charm, but not for his character. He knew he had a horrible personality. This made him feel awkward.

He coughed. "Seeing as this is the second time it happened, I believe I'm finally due for an explanation?"

Severus gave a dry smile, before Accio-ing the nearest armchair. He sat down slowly, his back straight and his hands pressed together on his lap. A pure-blood stance for formal matters. Somehow, this made Draco nervous.

"First of all, you must know that Harry does not wish to tell you. You have to believe that this is also difficult for him."

Draco's eyebrows furrowed. Just how serious was this?

"What do you know about vampires?"

Draco racked his brain for all that was told to him as a child and all that he read as a young, curious student. "They suck blood, of course. That's what they're best known for. They heal faster than the normal Wizard, and have better vision, especially at night. Others reported increased strength. Can't go out under the sun, but there are Potions for that now. Oh, and they only start to need human blood after puberty, at 18 years old… but we also have blood banks for that."

Severus nodded slowly at that. "The blood banks do very little," he started, carefully. "Vampires, when they reach 18, they start to… thirst for human blood, and most usually are caught unaware when this first urge occurs in them. They usually end up biting the person nearest to them at the time. I believe this started the rumors that vampires are violent creatures, which was fueled even more when Voldemort himself became one in his search for immortality."

Draco didn't know this. He found himself listening intently.

"The human who gives the vampire his first taste of human blood is referred in texts as the First Donor. It is this blood that… rearranges the chemical construction of the vampire's body. The vampire's body will change according to that first blood, and as a result, will crave for it thereafter." He paused, letting all the information sink in.

The idea was starting to form in Draco's head. He tried to stop it. He could feel the color slowly draining from his face.

"Blood banks do very little," Severus repeated softly. He did not look away from Draco, but he had on an expression that was… regretful. "At this moment, Draco, Harry's body is rejecting any other blood. We thought that it might not be so frequent, but it's only been a month since the last time Harry drank yours. In the meantime, I've been trying to construct some Potions that might help should the craving come, but…" He sighed.

He looked tired.

"Harry's body is rejecting everything. If it goes on for a long enough time, his body starts to reject  _his_ blood as well, as you have witnessed in his bathroom earlier."

Draco's eyes widened in realization. So that was what Potter was vomiting. Blood had been dripping from his mouth and nose…

He felt the bile crawl up his throat at the memory. He closed his eyes tightly to shut out the image, and also because his vision was starting to swim again.

He heard Severus say quietly, "You are his First Donor, Draco."

Draco kept quiet. He didn't know what to say. That's nice? Well and good? He took a deep, shuddery breath to calm his thundering heart. "I don't suppose I have a choice?"

Silence.

And then…

"You have a choice. Not all First Donors consent to give their blood after."

Draco opened his eyes. A horrible thought flashed in his head. "What happened to the vampires?"

Severus, for the first time that night, averted his gaze. "What, indeed."

* * *

They didn't talk for the next three days. Potter was  _still_ avoiding him. Draco was pretty sure he was avoiding Potter, too, even though he was pretending not to. Meals were taken with Severus only, and Severus would look at him pointedly from time to time, as if he wanted to say something, but would always choose not to do so.

Draco still continued to fly every 10 o'clock in the morning. He realized that he was still going about his usual routine, in the off chance that Potter might come to his senses and decide to finally approach him. At least he would know where to look for Draco.

Twenty feet in the air, Draco let out a very frustrated growl. He let the cold wind whip at his hair, before running his hands through it and gripping it with a sigh.

He was annoyed. Very annoyed. With Potter. But it was weird kind of annoyance. He wasn't annoyed about the blood. He had thought about it long and hard the past three days, and he realized that he didn't really mind what happened in Potter's room. He realized that he was annoyed that Potter was avoiding him. Again.

As if Draco was an avoidable existence in his life.

He scowled.

And why was Potter being such a pansy about it anyway?

It was  _weird_ that Draco had to give his blood, yes, but after having gone through it twice, Draco realized that most of his worries about it had just been from preconceived notions about vampirism, mostly gotten from his mother. Madame Pomfrey was right: It didn't hurt.

It made you a bit dizzy afterwards, but other than that, it felt just like an ignorable task that you do in a day, like brushing your teeth, or eating breakfast, or putting on lotion, or brushing your hair.

Draco  _could_ do it. He could do it every month. ( _For how long,_ his mind supplied, but he stopped himself before he could think too much about the future.)

The thing was, does he want to? Of course not. But… he  _could._

A dark figure beneath him gathered his attention. He looked down, surprised that while he had been lost in his thoughts, Potter had finally emerged from his self-imposed isolation and was looking up at him.

Draco also noticed that Potter wasn't in his flying gear nor was he carrying his Nimbus 2001.

"Fina-fucking-lly," he muttered, pulling at his broom to sweep downwards.

He briefly considered punching Potter, but he thought that maybe that would hurt. His hand. He didn't care about Potter's face. But he realized that that was barbaric and maybe he should just have Potter cater to his every whim when the school year starts.

"Three  _fucking_ days, Potter!" he growled, even as he jumped off his broom in one fluid motion and stomped the rest of the way.

Potter cringed and immediately put up two hands in front of him. "Err, Malfoy –"

Draco stopped in front of him and had to clench his fist to refrain from grabbing Potter by the collar and shaking him.  _"Stop. Avoiding me."_

Potter blinked in surprise. Then his eyebrows raised. He peered at Draco nervously. "That's what you're mad about?"

Draco glared. "What should I be mad about? The blood thing? That's hardly within your control, and –" He paused, raising an eyebrow at him. He looked at Potter up and down. Potter had lost weight. "Considering the two times it happened, you seem to be more bothered by it than I am."

Potter's hands lowered. So did his shoulders. He flashed a small, rueful smile in Draco's direction. "Yeah, it's… It's a bit hard coming to terms that I'm what everyone says."

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. He had thought as much. Potter was surprisingly and stupidly hard on himself. "You're a  _vampire,_ you wanker. I'm starting to realize now that it's really just genetic, and not… well, something violent." Then he realized that he probably said something nice, so he added, "Thanks to your spineless way of avoiding things."

He looked at Potter pointedly.

Potter at least had the decency to look sheepish, but the way he looked at Draco now seemed a bit different. Thoughtful. Grateful. Definitely more relaxed.

He wiped a hand down his face. "Did Severus talk to you about it?"

Draco nodded. "He said some things about being the First Donor and all." The term felt so foreign slipping off his tongue. And scary.

Potter nodded back. "Sorry," he muttered, forcing himself to look into Draco's eyes. "For dragging you into this."

Draco looked away, feeling awkward with all the honesty. "You did it to save my life, Potter. Even I know when a debt is made."

He knew immediately that it was a wrong thing to say, but was still surprised at how uncomfortable he felt seeing the hurt flash across Potter's face.

"I didn't do it so that you could owe me," Potter was saying, but Draco quickly corrected himself.

"I meant," he said loudly, so that Potter would shut up. "Even I have a sense of gratitude."

Potter still didn't look mollified, but he paused, looked at Draco's face, and nodded. "Thank you. Severus will, err… help. I don't know how often it will happen, but…" He shrugged.

"But next time," Draco continued for him, raising an eyebrow haughtily. "At least have the manners to ask properly, instead of ignoring me and then giving me a fright every time I open your loo."

"Maybe you should stop going inside another bloke's loo," Potter muttered, but he was smiling now, and Draco felt like a big weight was lifted off his shoulders.

* * *

The rest of the summer passed by. They celebrated Potter's birthday at the end of July, and went for a quick shopping spree with Severus in Diagon Alley for new supplies in the middle of August to avoid the rush. They took the chance to go to the Post Office and Owl long overdue letters to their friends.

Their Quidditch score was 49-50 now, and while Draco was still sour about this, he was adamant that Potter join the Quidditch Team so that they could finally beat the Gryffindor Team that was " _distastefully infested with Weasleys"._ Their Wizard's Chess score was 12-0. Draco thought it was admirable that Potter still tried.

From time to time, Severus would bring Draco with him to Hogwarts to meet with his parents. Draco looked forward to these meetings religiously, even as the reality that they didn't have the Malfoy Manor anymore would sink in the most during these times.

"What matters is that we're still together. We're safe. We will get the Manor back," his father had firmly told him.

It was the last thing his father told him, before September 1st rolled in, and the school year was to start again.

**to be continued**


End file.
